


Starting Something

by justafandomfollower



Series: The Justice League [1]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: AU, Gen, Oliver Queen Has PTSD, Slowly goes AU from there, Starts off more of canon divergence, What if Supergirl's Earth was the same as the rest of the Arrowverse?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 15:11:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 57,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16390064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justafandomfollower/pseuds/justafandomfollower
Summary: Oliver Queen returns to Star City with the intent to right his father’s wrongs and stop the poison that has infiltrated his city. He doesn’t need to deal with Superman getting upset about his methods and he doesn’t expect the allies he makes along the way.





	1. Prologue: The First Superhero

_ May 16, 2011: _

“So that’s it,” Oliver says, standing mostly on one leg in the forest of Lian Yu, with Amanda Waller by his side, “you’re just gonna bag and tag everything and pretend like nothing ever happened?” Pain courses up his other leg, but pain is an old friend. Oliver ignores it.

“You’ve seen what that idol can do,” Amanda replies calmly, like Oliver hasn’t just gone through hell for her, hasn’t just killed for her yet again, “how large the world truly is.” One of the two helicopters in front of them takes off, rotors pushing waves of sound against Oliver’s eardrums and sending the leaves on the ground swirling. “Speaking of…”

Two ARGUS agents step forward and place an old and worn trunk at Oliver’s feet, setting it gently against the hard dirt. He recognizes it instantly and scoffs. She never gives up, does she?

“What am I going to do with this?” he asks despite knowing perfectly well what Amanda is trying to get from him. He goes to his knees, opening it. 

“Our business here is concluded, Mr. Queen, unless it’s not.”

His green hood - Yao Fei’s hood, Shado’s hood - is still inside the trunk, his bow and arrows, his father’s List.

“As I said, justice requires killing. Maybe a man of your talents could be useful in hotspots across the globe.”

Oliver picks up the small notebook in front of him and shakes his head in dismay. He’s too talented now for Amanda to keep her leash on him, too good of an agent, but that doesn’t mean he’s outlived his usefulness. 

“Of you could just… go back to playing vigilante.” She doesn’t sound impressed with the idea, tone dry and scornful. 

“Neither,” Oliver tells her after a moment, setting down the List again. “I have a promise to keep.”

Another stooge steps forward, handing Amanda a tablet, and she shows the screen to Oliver as he stands.

“It’s a big world out there,” she repeats, “bigger than you can dream of.” There’s a video already on the screen. She plays it for him.

The footage is sharp, crystal clear and high-definition. A man stands in front of a police car, dressed in blue with a flowing red cape behind him. In front of him are two men, armed with automatic weapons, behind are the actual police, taking cover behind their vehicles. The man doesn’t seem bothered by the danger, standing bold and tall, and the camera is angled in just the right was so as to catch the confidence on his face. He’s talking to them, that much is obvious, but however nice the picture is the video is clearly lacking audio.

As Oliver watches the two armed men let loose their weapons, aiming everything at the stranger in blue. He doesn’t flinch, and for good reason - the bullets ricochet off him without leaving a mark and he doesn’t waver in the slightest. His clothing does not tear, his skin does not even so much as bruise from the force. He just stands there, catching all the bullets with his body, blocking the police behind him, and when a pause comes in the onslaught he moves faster than Oliver can see.

In the blink of an eye the man stands directly in front of the criminals, the guns crushed and bent at his feet. It doesn’t appear to have taken any effort at all.

The police swarm the three of them after a moment, guns out, seemingly unsure of who to direct them at, but the caped man isn’t bothered by that either. He says something, and then his feet somehow lift from the ground and he speeds out of the camera’s field of view, taking off into the air in an impossible feat of human flight.

Or maybe not human at all.

“He surfaced a week ago,” Amanda says, handing the tablet to one of her cronies as the video ends. “Saved a plane that almost went down over Metropolis. We have no idea of what he is, or what he’s capable of.”

For the first time, and almost certainly unintentionally, Oliver catches a hint of fear in Amanda’s expression that’s gone almost as quickly as it had come. This being really scares her, he realizes, and he knows why. The head of ARGUS is all about remaining in control and a new variable, especially one as powerful and as unknown as this one, shakes the steadfast grip she has on the world around her. For the briefest of moments, Oliver actually contemplates what life would be like for him if he continued to help ARGUS with their missions. 

He shakes his head. “He’s your problem now. But I could use a ride to Russia.”


	2. Impositions

_ October 27, 2012, the early hours of the morning: _

Oliver exits the building onto the roof, heart racing but breath steady. He relaxes the too tight grip he has on his bow and takes in Star City. His city. There is no one coming up behind him (he made sure of that) so he takes a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dark, to shift his mentality from the fight he just finished to the journey back to the foundry. Except, it’s not really dark in Star City. Even now, well past midnight, the city is active: cars rush by in the distance, street lights and building lights both contribute more than enough light pollution to drown out the stars. Oliver can hear people talking as they walk by the street on the west side of the building he’s on and a siren off in the distance - ambulance, he judges from the faint sounds. 

In a city as big as this one there is always activity, always noise and light. It is nothing like Lian Yu (but it makes Oliver think of Hong Kong sometimes, and what happened when he was off the island). Here the wind is stale, heated by the asphalt and concrete that surrounds him. Here he can barely make out enough stars to navigate by. Here it is never quiet, never still. Here is home. 

Here he can right his father’s wrongs, he reminds himself, mentally crossing another name off the List.

Oliver lets out a breath, then takes off at a light run. The material beneath his feet is solid and unforgiving, and now he leaps between rooftops, but as he places one foot against the edge of this building’s roof and jumps to the next one (landing properly, bow shielded from impact, rolling to his feet again quickly and precisely) he can’t help but think of the island. It’s never far from his mind. He’d never thought he’d feel even the slightest bit nostalgic for Lian Yu but here, where he has to sit upright at tables with straight-backed chairs and use silverware that’s actually made of silver and sleep on beds that are so soft they’re uncomfortable - it sometimes makes him wish for a simpler life. 

But then, Oliver reminds himself as he leaps another, smaller gap, losing himself in the mindless motions, he’d chosen to come back. And when he looks at Thea, his mother, Tommy, even a Laurel who hates him, when he thinks of his father’s sacrifice, he reminds himself that it’s all worth it. That there is nowhere else on Earth he’d rather be. And he has a mission to complete. 

Movement above and to the left of him brings Oliver back to the present but his jog over the rooftops doesn’t falter. He can feel himself readying for a fight again, eyes searching unconsciously ahead for an obstacle to duck behind, and without even realizing it he’s picked out a radiator not too far ahead on his right. Oliver intentionally tumbles, rolling behind the radiator and rising in a crouch with an arrow already nocked. 

Two seconds have passed since Oliver realized someone had found him but it’s only now, safe, motionless, and armed that Oliver processes what he’d seen. The person had been  _ above  _ him. Above  _ him _ \- the vigilante running across rooftops. There  _ was  _ no above him. 

Of course, Oliver has seen his fair share of the impossible since being marooned on purgatory. The things he now considers normal… But human flight still isn’t one of those things. Which leaves three possibilities: something he’s never encountered before, magic, or Superman. None of the options seem appealing.

“I’m not here for a fight.” The voice is confident, calm, and kind all at once. Warm and welcoming, if stern, and when Oliver peers over the radiator he confirms his suspicions. 

Superman hovers about fifteen feet away, red cape moving in the wind, characteristic symbol on his chest and a wary look on his face. Even in the dim light of Star City in the middle of the night, he’s unmistakable. 

“Not like I’d have much chance if you were,” Oliver concedes with a growl. He knows his limits. He stands and steps out from behind the radiator, lowering his bow but keeping his arrow nocked.  _ What is this alien doing in my city? _ he thinks angrily, tense and ready to run or fire his bow at a moment’s notice. He should have grabbed an explosive arrow, at least that could have served as a good distraction. 

Superman shrugs apologetically and grins slightly, as if to say ‘What can you do?’. “I hear you’re pretty handy with that bow though,” is what he actually says. There’s a faint hint of accusation in his tone. 

Oliver briefly considers taking offense to that, unconsciously tightening his grip on his bow as he stares down the alien. He’s only human, after all, and he does what he has to to make sure that he lives through each fight. He doesn’t expect Superman to understand that. He doesn’t understand what makes Superman think he has the right to judge him. 

Of all the eyes he knew his actions would draw, he’d never thought Superman would be among them. 

He shrugs, forces himself to relax. There’s no point in picking a fight he knows he can’t win. “You could say that,” he replies lightly instead, voice synthesizer still on. His instincts scream at him to run, to flee from this impossible and incredibly dangerous man, but he keeps his heart steady and his feet still. 

Superman’s grin widens a fraction, slightly amused by Oliver’s response, and Oliver has to admit to himself that he’d never pictured the imposing superhero like… this. Smiling and laughing and kind and  _ human _ \- not the cold, impersonal, imposing figure he’d been in the eyes of ARGUS. (Of course, though, Oliver can understand why the government would feel that way about the all-powerful alien. Besides, Superman mostly works with the DEO.)

“Look,” Superman says, floating down to the rooftop to join Oliver. “I just want to talk.”

He doesn’t take any steps forward, doesn’t make any sudden moves after landing, and Oliver appreciates that, even though he knows there’s nothing he can do against a being as powerful as this one.

He nods shortly, mentally reassessing what he knows about his surroundings, about escape routes and how quickly he’ll be able to draw an explosive or zip line arrow. “So talk.”

“I… I can’t pretend to know why you’re doing this,” Superman admits, “why you put on that hood or picked up that bow, but I can understand a desire to help people. I can understand the feeling inside of you that means you won’t stop this until your work is done - and it will never be done.” He pauses, looks up at the hazy night sky before turning back to Oliver. “But you’re doing it the wrong way.”

Oliver experiences a surge of emotions stronger than anything he’s felt in a while. He remembers Diggle’s disgust and horror when he’d revealed himself. He remembers everything he’s been through to get him to where he is today. He recalls his conviction to see that his father’s wrongs are righted. On one hand, Superman is right, he won’t stop this until he’s done, which means he likely won’t stop this until he dies (or if he winds up in prison, if it’s already over, if Superman is here to stop him (if he is, Oliver’s not going without a fight, however short)). But who is Superman to decide what way is right, what way works for him?

Oliver takes a breath, holds back his anger. “Who are you to decide the right way?” he growls.

“No one,” Superman says plainly. “It’s  _ not  _ my decision,” he admits easily. “But you’re breaking the law, and you’re killing people. You can’t… It may not be up to me to decide the right way or wrong way, but it’s not up to you to decide who lives and who dies.”

“And how long have you been doing that,” Oliver bites out, “deciding who lives and who dies? Over a year now?” It’s a low blow and Oliver knows it, but he’s angry. What right does this stranger have to judge him? Besides, if he can’t fight Superman with weapons, words are his only option. 

But just as Superman’s grin fades from his face, as he takes in Oliver’s harsh words, he cocks his head, gaze going distant before refocusing on Oliver. “I’m sorry,” he says hastily, feet starting to lift from the ground again. He practically vibrates with tension, with a desire to move, “there’s a mugging - two blocks east.”

Oliver’s anger at the hero doesn’t evaporate but it shifts to the side, his priorities refocusing. Superman doesn’t need his permission but- “Go,” he says, already moving himself.

Superman’s expression is grateful and understanding, but he doesn’t waste any more time on words. He rises and shoots forward, not fast enough to blur out of sight but faster than Oliver can move. Oliver’s nocked arrow is released from his bow but he doesn’t waste the precious seconds it would take to move it to his quiver. He runs after Superman, a true sprint this time rather than the relaxing run from before, and leaps to the next rooftop.

The mugging isn’t far, but it’s ugly. Four on four, but only because it’s four thugs taking on two parents and their young children. Superman has two of the thugs already wrapped up with what looks like pieces of a nearby fire escape and is handling the third. The family is safe, huddled together and hugging as they watch Superman with awe. But the fourth thug is foolish enough to think he can run, moving down the alley away from the caped hero.

Oliver nocks his bow and aims without thinking, then pauses before he lets the arrow fly. He thinks of the point Superman had been trying to make, thinks again of Diggle’s horror at learning his identity. This man is not one of his father’s mistakes. He adjusts his aim, releases. 

In the alley below him the thug skids to a halt, looking around wildly as an arrow slices through the air in front of him and digs into the asphalt at his feet. Superman could have no doubt caught him anyway but he throws a grateful smile up in Oliver’s direction nevertheless as he grabs the motionless would-be thief. 

The thugs have been apprehended, the victims saved, and Superman is directing them in calling the police. Oliver thinks about leaving. Instead he takes a few steps back, makes sure he’s hidden in the shadows enough that no one looking up would be able to spot him, and waits. There’s no point in running from Superman.

Superman gives the family one last reassuring look, crouches down to speak kindly to the kids, then rises again, slowly drifting toward the roof that Oliver is on.

“Thank you,” the caped hero says, quietly but firmly, as he lands on the edge of the roof.

Oliver doesn’t have to ask him what for. “They didn’t fail this city,” he says, “the city failed them.”

Superman nods once, then waves down at the family waiting in the streetlight. “You have a point, but I hope you consider mine. You don’t have to kill.”

Oliver doesn’t respond.

“I promised them I’d stay until the police came,” Superman says, cocking his head slightly again. “It shouldn’t be long, there was a patrol car nearby.”

Oliver wonders, not for the first time, at Superman’s capabilities, but remains silent. He doesn’t want this superhero here, but, looking down at the family before him, Oliver can’t help but be grateful he is. He never would have stopped this crime on his own. (If he’d seen it, he would have - Oliver’s not the kind to ignore something like this if he comes across it. But he’s also not the type to go out looking for it.)

“You scare people more than you realize,” Superman continues. 

A pause, as thoughts and plans and protests and agreement race through Oliver’s head. He wishes he could be as optimistic as Superman. He knows there’s no point in thinking he can stand against him. “I’ll consider it,” he says gruffly. 

Still facing the family on the street, keeping a watchful eye out, Superman beams. “Thank you,” he says again, voice bright and excited and hopeful. “Hopefully next time we meet it’ll be under better circumstances.”

Oliver nods, still not pleased with the superhero’s judgement, and moves to step away. Superman’s last statement is both a call for hope and a promise - if Oliver screws up, Superman can stop him. At least the hero had stayed true to his word, and had only come to talk. 

“Hey,” Superman says softly, stopping his retreat. He gestures down at the street and waits for Oliver to approach.

When Oliver steps forward, moving to stand beside the hero, his eyes immediately move to the family that Superman had saved. One of the children, obviously watching their hero, notices him and waves cheerfully.

“There are a lot of people out there that need help,” Superman continues, watching Oliver closely. “And you have the skill and ability to help them.”

Even though Oliver is wearing his hood and face paint, has used the voice synthesizer, and Superman is staring from the side, it feels like the hero is gazing through his soul. He nods once, then steps away again, finally retreating into the dark.

When Oliver finally makes it back to the foundry that morning the agonized screams and suffering of his victims is still a constant background noise in his mind, Diggle’s reaction to his secret drifting through on occasion, and the island and everything it led to still an ever-present living nightmare over everything, but there’s a new image in Oliver’s mind. It doesn’t push aside the bad memories or change Oliver’s resolve, but it’s there, and he knows it’s there to say: a child, smiling and waving up at him, grateful to be alive in the way that only a child can be.

Despite his anger at Superman’s interference, when Oliver finally sleeps for that night, he has no nightmares.

* * *

* * *

_ October 27 - October 31, 2012: _

Oliver wakes the next day to find he’s slept on the window seat again, its thin cushion more comfortable to him than the king size mattress that used to be his. At least he can sleep with the window closed now, shut off from the natural breezes and temperature changes and instead stuck breathing in the recycled air of the mansion. His first night back had been… not good, to say the least. He’d slept on the floor then and almost strangled his mother when she’d tried to wake him from his nightmares.

He stretches and showers and thinks about the problem of Superman. He won’t stop his mission, can’t stop his mission, despite the fact that Diggle could spill his secret or Superman could stop him in an instant. But he can’t let Superman become an enemy either, can’t afford trying to work around the superhero. Oliver pushes down his growing anger, reminds himself to stay calm, and fusses with the bed a bit to make it look like he slept on it (though it’s not as if anyone is going to check).

He’ll just have to take it easy for a while. He’s good enough to aim for arms and legs, to take back money and threaten without taking lives, and if it gets him off Superman’s radar it’s worth it. It’s a setback, but it’s one Oliver can deal with.

Downstairs Thea is watching the news and he joins her, the two of them discussing things he’d missed, and Laurel. Thea encourages him to show Laurel his new self but Oliver… isn’t so sure. His new self isn’t exactly the best guy to be around, even if he’s ten times better than who he was before. But he doesn’t have long to think on it before his mother approaches them with a stranger in tow.

His new bodyguard.

Oliver smirks and shakes his hand and plays up the irresponsible playboy, all the while taking in his new bodyguard’s stance and alertness. He’s already got five possible plans for ditching this amateur and he knows he won’t bother looking him up like he did Diggle. Not unless the man seriously surprises him.

But the mention of Jason Brodeur by the news wakes him even further, reminding him of his mission. It’s time to get to work.

Oliver easily ditches Rob, researches the case, convinces Laurel to look into it while under the hood, and tries to convince Diggle to join him. But Superman’s words, his subtle threat, linger in Oliver’s mind. They’re on his mind when he chains a man to a railroad track and waits for the train to come. They’re on his mind when he shoots Jason Brodeur through the hand, hoping to get the man to confess. They’re on his mind when he sneaks into Iron Heights to protect an innocent man (and Laurel, because he pulled her into this and he is going to get her out of it. That’s a promise).

But Oliver gets caught up in the attack, in fighting through the swarm of prisoners that have been released. It’s easy, too easy, to just let himself go and lose himself in the fight. Plus, he hates prison - hates the reminder of the island, the cages Fyers used and the underground cells he was kept in, hates the reminder of Hong Kong, and the leash Waller had had on him, hates the reminder of the  _ Amazo _ and digging a bullet out of his gut, hates the reminder of needlessly snapping a man’s neck in Russia for the Bratva. Hates that this is where he’ll end up one day, if he doesn’t die first. He hates prison and he’s fighting for his father’s mission and  _ Laurel is going to get out of this  _ and before Oliver knows it he’s standing over a prisoner, beating him without reason or pause.

Superman’s stern gaze imposes itself over the prisoner’s and Oliver stops, blinking himself out of the daze he’d entered. He can’t kill, because he can’t give the superhero any excuse to stop his mission. He can’t kill, because this man doesn’t deserve that. He can’t kill, because Laurel is standing right there. He blinks again, coming back to himself, and looks up to meet her uncertain gaze. She looks afraid of him and it’s just another memory that Oliver won’t forget for a long time to come.

Outside the prison he overhears Laurel talking to her father, calling him a killer without remorse. For the first time since returning to Star City, his conviction wavers. He doesn’t believe in his mission any less but Superman’s threat, Diggle’s disgust, and Laurel’s fear - the memory of the family Superman had saved - are forcing him to think twice. One after the other after the other they’ve cast aside his idea of doing good and scorned him instead. 

He can’t stop, won’t stop crossing names off the List. It’s his mission. But, maybe it’s time to reevaluate things slightly. 

* * *

* * *

_ November 1 - November 2, 2012: _

Diggle ends up joining his cause just in time for Detective Lance to find the evidence he’d planted and Oliver slips into his old skin (uncomfortable and fake) while the ex-soldier slips into his green hood and stops a drug deal across town. Hosting a party at the mansion is… odd. And generally unpleasant, but Oliver tries not to let that slip.

It’s not his first loud party since he’s been back, it’s not even his second, but he’s still adjusting to the noise, to the crowd. And though he can get drunk with the best of them he doesn’t so much anymore. Can’t risk getting that loose, can’t risk letting himself go, can’t risk what he might say. Can’t risk the bad memories. 

But Oliver can deal with the bright lights and loud noises and surging crowd and the expectations place upon him by his ‘peers’, it’s the weight of the ankle monitor that bothers him the most. He knows it shouldn’t - he could slip it and go on the run in an instant, no one would ever find him - but it does. Waller had never resorted to such devices but it reminds him of her nevertheless, of having his every move watched, and he doesn’t like it. He wants it  _ off _ . It’s been a while since he’s gotten what he wants. 

Lance ends up saving him from an assassin, Diggle is spotted across town in the hood, and the anklet goes. Oliver tries not to let his relief show too much. 

* * *

* * *

_ November 14 - December 15, 2012:  _

When Diggle suggests taking a break from his List to go after some common bank robbers, Oliver agrees far more readily than the bodyguard had probably expected. But this isn’t a setback, just a detour. A way to help people, to keep Diggle on his side, and to prove to Superman that he’s not a threat all at once. His father’s mission has waited five years. It can wait a week longer. 

* * *

But then one night, Oliver stops a carjacking. Another night it’s an attempted rape. He starts staying out each night after he crosses someone off the List, spending an hour or two on the streets, listening to the police radio and helping the people he comes across. Diggle doesn’t know - Oliver sends him home when the jobs are done - so he isn’t doing it to prove a point or bring people to his side.

He’s treating the symptoms, that’s all he’s doing and he knows that. Knows that in the end, it won’t change anything, won’t stop the corruption and disease that fills Star City. But he’s still going after the root cause - it’s not like he’s setting aside the List or anything. It’s just that treating the symptoms, rescuing people on the streets, brings much more immediate results. It’s… gratifying, to see the relief on the victim’s faces when an arrow cuts between them and their attacker. He’d never thought he’d ever see such looks directed at him. 

He words on modifying his arrows and attacks to be less lethal in between his research into the List.

* * *

And time… passes. He learns to sleep in his bed again, to feel comfortable with silverware in his hand. His mother gets shot at and Oliver ends up trying to convince the attacker not to kill. He falls for Helena, because she understands what it’s like to be damaged, what it’s like to need revenge, but he’s wrong to think he can change her. Oliver looks into her eyes and sees the madness and the pain that’s been there since the beginning. The first time he’d looked into those eyes he’d thought he’d been looking into a mirror but he sees differently now. Helena had turned into a killer because she’d suffered. Oliver had suffered because he’d been turned into a killer. 

* * *

Christmas takes Oliver by surprise. He hasn’t celebrated the holiday in five years. It had meant nothing on the island and Waller and the Bratva certainly hadn’t been the type to encourage gift giving while he’d been off it. 

But growing up… Growing up, Christmas had always been the biggest holiday of the year in the Queen family. Lavish parties and piles of gifts (too many, looking back, but Oliver can’t bring himself to regret any of those memories) and hundreds of decorations lining every hall of the manor. 

And Oliver’s  _ home  _ now. The List is his mission, but it’s not the entire reason why he’s returned to Star City. If he’d wanted, he could have never come home to his family, could have lurked fully in the shadows and eliminated the members of the List one by one without ever telling his family he was still alive. Except he hadn’t wanted that, and the typical Queen family Christmas party embodies the reason why.

A chance to celebrate with friends and family, to forget the tragedies of life and focus on the good, to spend time together, to celebrate a year gone by. It makes sense that Thea and his mother hadn’t really celebrated after the  _ Gambit  _ had sank to the bottom of the ocean - it twists his heart, but it makes since. 

But Oliver’s home now. And there’s nothing that says home to him more during Christmas than the Queen family party. Maybe throwing it will bring them all closer in a way he hasn’t been able to do since he’s returned.  

As Oliver plans a party, the List grows smaller, until one day someone else decides to try their own hand at shrinking it. Adam Hunt, Oliver’s first victim, is found dead with three arrows in his chest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, ready for a long author's note?
> 
> First things first, thanks to MidnightSunset35 on FF.net for looking things over for me. She helped make this story flow properly, though all mistakes are, of course, my own. 
> 
> Second, the posting schedule on this fic is gonna be a little...weird. I want to post in 'real time' (as in, this chapter starts on October 27, which is today). The reason for this is that, eventually, I hope to be posting multiple stories at once (if I ever get that far...) and I want to keep the timeline straight between them. Unfortunately that means that for right now, with the canon divergence part of this fic, the chapters will be very spaced out. Hopefully you'll be willing to stick with me until things pick up. 
> 
> Third, a good deal of this is already written so, Chapter 2: Connections, will be posted December 16th. 
> 
> Finally, let me know what you think! How am I doing so far?


	3. Connections

_December 16, 2012:_

If a meteorite lands anywhere in the United States, that falls under the DEO’s jurisdiction. So when one makes its way to the middle of the desert, J’onn calls Superman.

Clark could have flown but J’onn doesn’t use his Martian powers for fear of attracting attention so the two of them drive to the site where the meteorite has fallen. It’s night by the time J’onn’s car pulls up near the crater, just the two of them in the middle of the desert. Clark doesn’t mind. J’onn is a good man and he would rather it just be the two of them on an unofficial, official mission, rather than a whole team of DEO agents. It’s just a small meteorite - it’s not as if they’ll encounter any problems. (Though admittedly it feels a little odd to be riding in a car and wearing his costume at the same time.)

Thankfully they are able to pull up pretty close to the crater, exiting the vehicle and closing their car doors with twin thumps in the silent night. The cold doesn’t bother Clark and, given J’onn’s fear of fire, he bets it doesn’t bother the other man either.

“What do you think it is?” he asks, joining J’onn as they walk toward the crater. He’s got a weird feeling about it, an uneasy sensation in his gut, now that they’re actually here. But it’s just a meteorite, right?

J’onn glances over at him. “I don’t know,” he replies. “Could be anything.”

Clark nods but the bad feeling only gets worse as they approach the crater. Looking down at the glowing green meteorite in its center, Clark can’t understand why he feels this way. He thinks he might actually be _sweating_ and the uneasy sensation in his gut has turned unpleasant. He swallows and sneaks a glance at J’onn. The Martian looks fine.

“Well, it’s not a space ship,” Clark manages to say. Not that they thought it was, given its size.

J’onn only shakes his head and starts carefully making his way into the crater. After a moment’s pause, Clark follows after him.

Except… he only feels worse as he goes on. Clark has had panic attacks before, when he was very young and first got his powers, but this isn’t that so he doesn’t know what it could be. He doesn’t get sick - not on Earth at least. The only thing that’s different is the meteorite, which is not from Earth either. Could it be doing this to him?

He takes another step closer, winces, and then stumbles the rest of the way down the slope to the meteorite. He lands on his hands and knees, far, far too close to the wretched, terrible _thing_ and can think of nothing but the pain.

“Superman?” J’onn says distantly, somewhere far above Clark. He sounds concerned but Clark can’t focus.

Clark starts heaving, clutching his stomach with one hand and supporting himself against the ground with the other. Why does it _hurt_ so much? He feels a hand on his shoulder, all too heavy, then knows no more.

* * *

Clark wakes to find himself slumped up against J’onn’s car, out of the crater once more and away from the terrible thing that he knows with certainty had been killing him.

“J’onn?” he croaks out, hesitant and confused. Already he feels ten times better than before but he’s still not quite yet back to normal.   

“Superman.” J’onn hurries toward him and crouches down, meeting his gaze. “What happened?”

Clark’s willing to bet that J’onn’s come to the same conclusion he has and that the other man just wants clarification. He shakes his head and manages to stand. “It’s the meteorite,” he says. “As soon as we got near it I didn’t feel right.” He locks gazes with J’onn again, who has stood along with him. “We have to destroy it.”

But J’onn hesitates, looking uncertain. “I’m not so sure that’s the best idea.”

Clark stares at him in astonishment. He understands that there are people out there that are afraid of him, afraid of what he’s capable of, but he’d never thought J’onn would be one of them. “What if one of my enemies gets their hand on that?” he asks, incredulous. “What if Luthor does?”

J’onn shakes his head. “That’s the thing, Superman, you’re not the only Kryptonian out there and they don’t all have the moral code that you do. This… this kryptonite, it just might be the only thing that gives us a fighting chance against them.”

No, he’s not the only Kryptonian out there. Clark thinks of Kara, his younger-older cousin. She’s twenty now, in college. He hopes that one day she follows in his footsteps, takes up her own mantle to protect the people of the planet they call home, but it’s her choice. He doesn’t want her to make that choice in a world where kryptonite exists. He never wants her to feel as helpless as he just had.

He takes a step back from J’onn, studies the Martian. “I can’t convince you otherwise, can I?” he says, somewhat angrily.

“No.”

Superman could stop him, despite how powerful J’onn truly is, but that would accomplish nothing. He can’t destroy the kryptonite himself, can’t get near the stuff. And to tell anyone else about it, and hope that they destroyed it for him… He can’t do that either. He can’t believe J’onn would do this, would keep a weapon that could kill him.

“Fine,” he says. “But you can expect Superman to stop working with you.” How can he be a part of this, of a system that stockpiles weapons to use against its allies? This, on top of all the other things he’s heard about the government, on top of the rumors about a group called Cadmus, and other facilities like it, is the straw that breaks the camel’s back. Clark’s done working with the DEO and done with the government. If this is how they treat their allies he really doesn’t want to know how they treat their enemies.

Before J’onn can respond Superman takes off, shoots into the air and keeps going straight up. He can still hear J’onn though. Can hear him pulling out his phone and calling the DEO. Clark tunes out and wonders what comes next.

* * *

* * *

_December 16 - February 5, 2013:_

The night after Adam Hunt’s death, as Oliver wanders the city in costume, listening for hints of the other archer, he spots a person flying above him. This time Oliver stands in the open, weapon at his side, as Superman lands lightly on the roof in front of him.

Irritation swells within him and he turns on the voice synthesizer with an angry click. “If you’re here because of Adam Hunt-” he growls, voice harsh.

Superman shakes his head quickly, stopping Oliver in his tracks. “No, I… the police don’t think it’s you and I don’t either.” He smiles slightly, eyes alight with pleasure. “You’ve been _helping_ people.”

Superman sounds so excited, so pleased and proud, that Oliver’s irritation mostly fades (mostly. He’s still not pleased the superhero is taking the time to watch _him_ , of all people). How is this man, who never seems to stop smiling, the most powerful being on the planet?

“Then why are you here?” Oliver asks, voice still harsh. He doesn’t have the time at the moment - there’s a killer with a bow out there and it might be Oliver’s fault he’s killing people.

Superman winces slightly at the harsh tone. “I was nearby,” he admits. “I wanted to see how you were doing.” His eyes sweep over Oliver’s costumed form and Oliver is thankful that he hasn’t been seriously injured in a while. “There aren’t exactly a lot of heroes out there…”

“I’m not a hero,” Oliver growls back, but not as harsh as he had been before. Superman’s words had been hesitant, slightly uncertain. Apprehensive. _He wants to talk_ , Oliver realizes. _He’s looking for a conversation but he doesn’t know how to ask for it._ Oliver wants to laugh at the irony. The most powerful being on the planet has come to the hooded vigilante that stays in the shadows because he wants someone to talk to.

Oliver isn’t much of a conversationalist these days but he studies Superman, notices things that he hadn’t before. Like the fact that Superman is young. Probably close to his age, not yet thirty (though who knows how Kryptonians age on Earth). And that he’s been doing this for a year, alone, facing horrors of international proportions.

Superman is bulletproof, can fly and shoot lasers out of his eyes and has the strength to bench press an airplane. But looking at him now, at the lost expression on the alien’s face, Oliver feels the irrational urge to protect him. He squashes it down - Superman might be far too innocent given what he must have seen already in his crusade to save the world, but he doesn’t need protecting. Especially not from a man like Oliver.

So he stands silently, waiting for the hero to speak again. He’s not much of a conversationalist, but he can listen.

But Superman shakes his head. “I’m sorry,” he says reluctantly, “I shouldn’t have come. I just… I wanted to let you know that I knew you didn’t do this. And that I know you’ll find the person who did.”

Oliver hesitates. Superman clearly isn’t much of a conversationalist either, for all he’s a talker. He takes a step forward, opens his mouth even though he has no idea what he’s about to say, and is cut short when Superman moves as well. The superhero cocks his head, his gaze growing distant, and Oliver recognizes the look.

When Superman looks back at him regretfully, about to give an explanation no doubt, Oliver just nods. “We can talk later,” he says on impulse. Superman had come tonight as a peace offering and Oliver would have to be a fool to turn that down. Besides, there’s something of what he sees in the mirror in those blue eyes - eyes far older than Superman looks but also far kinder than Oliver’s own. If _he_ could somehow help _this_ man, that would be far better than just treating the symptoms. Superman can go places and accomplish things that Oliver could only dream of - he can save so much more than just a single city.

But that talk doesn’t happen until seven weeks go by, and December fades into January which shifts into February.

Oliver encounters the other archer when the hooded man takes hostages and winds up in the hospital for his troubles. It’s easy enough to pass it off as a motorcycle accident (and Diggle spins some ridiculous story that only adds to his playboy persona) but Oliver’s confidence suffers. Crime rises without the Arrow (as they’re calling him) on the streets. He tries to act like it’s Walter’s disappearance that keeps him from putting on the hood - it’s his need to be there for his family, he tells Diggle.

Neither of them much believe him.

(It’s his first large failure in Star City and Oliver had only come back because he’d thought he’d been ready - because he’d thought that his five years in hell had prepared him for whatever he would encounter. He doesn’t like the thought that he was wrong.)

And when Laurel calls and he does put on the hood again, he hesitates, he fights poorly, and people die. But more people are saved and Oliver gets his confidence back and returns to the streets of his city.

Ever since Diggle had come for him after he’d been injured fighting the other archer, the two of them are truly working in sync and its Diggle’s voice in his ear that directs Oliver where to go one winter night. Oliver is finally back in fighting shape, now that he’s confident in his abilities again, and he relishes the familiar exercise, the thrill of racing through the streets, of being able to _help_ people again. (And the satisfaction of crossing people off the List, one by one.)

He’s wandering the rooftops of a particularly bad area of the Glades, motorcycle tucked safely away just a few streets over, when Superman hovers down to greet him.

The man of steel looks worried.

“Just flying by?” Oliver asks with a hint of amusement, clicking on the voice synthesizer once more. He’s in an uncommonly good mood, bolstered by putting on the hood again.

 _“What?”_ Diggle asks in his ear, confused.

Crap - Oliver’d forgotten Diggle could hear everything he said.

Superman grins sheepishly, but the worried expression doesn’t evaporate. He’s scanning Oliver from head to toes as he lands on the roof. “No one had heard from you for over a month. I thought, maybe, the other archer…”

Oliver shakes his head, internally debating whether or not to sever his connection to Diggle and deal with the aftermath later, or let the man hear everything without knowing who he’s talking to. He hesitates, then leaves the comm link open.

“We fought, he won,” he says simply. “But I’m back now.”

Superman grimaces and scans him again. He doesn’t seem to know what to say.

Come to think of it, neither does Oliver. To think that Superman has spent time worrying about him is… odd. Superman’s home may be Metropolis but the alien is international. He saves people without worrying about borders. But working in such a wide area surely means he can’t pay attention to everything, everywhere. Even Superman has limits. Yet he still keeps an eye out for Oliver, for the Arrow of Star City.

( _"O_ _liver, who are you talking to?”_ Diggle asks, tense and curious all at once.)

“I thought I wasn’t in your good books,” Oliver finally says, studying the hero.

He doesn’t mean anything by it, not really, but he sort of regrets saying it when Superman immediately shakes his head in the negative, still looking unhappy.

“No!” he blurts out hastily. “Of course not! When I put on the cape I… I knew I wasn’t alone out here - there are millions of people every day who risk their lives to save others: police, firemen, everyday people. But there also wasn’t anybody… like me. You have no idea of the hope you give people.

Oliver raises an eyebrow, though he knows the movement won’t quite translate given his hood. “I thought you said I scared people.”

“You do,” Superman agrees, “but now you’re scaring the right people. To everyone else you’re giving them hope.”

The hooded archer takes a moment to process the superhero’s words. “You know, I’m nothing like you,” he finally says, unable to deny the man’s words entirely.

“Well, you’re human,” Superman admits. “But you still make a choice to put on that hood night after night. That’s a choice I… I can understand.”

Oliver, too, is developing a deeper understanding of the man across the roof from him. Superman isn’t just an aloof alien with powers far beyond anyone else - he’s a man who makes a decision every day that he will not stand by while the world burns. The same decision Oliver makes every day. They are nothing alike, but, they are also startlingly similar.

He nods once and silence falls between them again. Diggle has gone silent as well, smart enough to realize that Oliver can’t talk right now. The night is surprisingly quiet, the city surprisingly peaceful. He supposes word has gotten around that he’s back on the street.

“You know you can’t punch worth a damn,” he says, surprising the both of them with his words.

Superman stares at him in confusion. “What?”

“You can’t punch worth a damn,” Oliver repeats. He’d done his research on the superhero after their first meeting, watched most of his televised rescues. Superman has strength and invulnerability on his side but he has no idea how to fight.

“I… don’t really need to,” Superman says hesitantly. “I usually just knock people out if I need to.”

Oliver shrugs and Superman stares at him curiously.

“But you can fight,” the superhero continues more confidently.

Oliver raises an expectant eyebrow under the hood, once more wondering if the hero can see it. “I can,” he admits plainly. It’s not arrogance - Oliver knows how to fight, otherwise he never would have made it home, never would have been pulled from the wreck of the _Amazo_ by Amanda Waller.

“Teach me,” Superman says, suddenly, unexpectedly, taking an eager step forward at his own words.

It’s Oliver’s turn to stare in astonishment. _“What?”_ he growls out through the synthesizer.

“Teach me how to fight people without hurting them,” Superman clarifies.

But Oliver takes a step back. _Teach_ Superman. Him - the shadowed vigilante with a checkered past not just stained but drenched in blood. He’s done terrible things. He’d met Superman because he’d been killing people. This is Superman, a symbol of hope and optimism, a good man, asking him for help. And Oliver… Oliver can’t. Not him. Especially not if Superman wants to learn how to fight without hurting people.

All Oliver had learned in his five years away was _how_ to hurt people. He’s not the man for this job.

He shakes his head in denial, takes another step back. “I’m sorry,” he says, though he’s not ( _h_ _im_ teach _Superman_ \- the very idea of it sounds absurd). “I’m sure there’s someone else who can help.”

He takes a few more steps back, then turns and leaps onto the fire escape that he knows is there. Superman could stop him in an instant, could find him easily, but he lets Oliver run. And despite knowing he can’t hide from the superhero, Oliver stays down on the street, ducks through alleys and weaves back and forth sporadically for over half an hour before he returns to his motorcycle.

Inside the foundry, Diggle is waiting for him.

“What was that all about?” Digg asks, a mixture of amazement and confusion in his tone.

“It was nothing,” Oliver dismisses, gruff and frustrated by the night’s outcome. He’d gone out to stretch his legs, to get a feel for being a vigilante again. Instead he’d met Superman, an all-powerful, benevolent being who’d asked _him_ for help. Superman’s words, instead of inspiring him, remind him of all the destruction he’s wrought, the people he’s killed and the people he’s tortured. What has he been thinking, actually entertaining the idea that there is anything even remotely similar between him and the caped hero?

“Nothing?” Diggle asks in astonishment. “You were talking with _Superman_!”

Oliver looks away, fighting the urge to frown at the reminder. He doesn’t want to think about it, wants to be thinking about anything else besides that at the moment. He calms himself instead, blanks his expression, and when he speaks his tone is neutral. “He spoke with me a few months ago,” he admits, “before you came aboard. Told me to stop killing.”

Diggle’s brain cycles through the past, connecting the dots. “Is that why you agreed so easily to go after the Royal Flush Gang?”

“Yes.”

But Diggle is smart, and Diggle has been working with him for some time now - the only person who knows all (most) sides of Oliver. He frowns, studying Oliver a bit too closely for comfort.

“You can head home for the night,” Oliver says, unpacking his quiver and methodically checking the sharpness of each arrow.

“You just talked to _Superman_ ,” Diggle repeats. “What about that upsets you?”

Oliver carefully turns to look at his partner, raising an eyebrow in what he hopes is an expression of polite confusion. “I’m not upset,” he says.

Diggle shakes his head in exasperation. “Oliver, you might be great with a bow but you’re not the best actor.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Oliver says, turning back to his arrows. Of course, Diggle’s wrong - Oliver acts every minute of every day. Acts like silverware doesn’t sit uncomfortably in his hand, acts like soap isn’t a luxury, acts like he hasn’t been tortured, and done the torturing himself. Acts like he’s not a broken man that doesn’t deserve any kindness people might show him. But in this case, maybe Diggle is also right - there are different kinds of acting.

“Look man, I know you’ve got a rough past, but when Superman talks to you, when Superman asks you for _help_ , most people wouldn’t hesitate to agree.

Oliver doesn’t reply but he can see Diggle shake his head out of the corner of his eye.

Digg stands, grabs his coat off the back of his chair. He’s clearly learned there’s no point in arguing with Oliver when he gets like this (Oliver isn’t sure yet if that’s a good thing or a bad thing). “Just think about it, will you?” Diggle asks, moving past him to head out for the night (or, well, the morning actually). He pauses at the base of the steps. “And you will tell me everything about the man. Or alien. Whatever.”

Looking up again, Oliver gives Diggle a small, tight but grateful, smile. He appreciates Digg giving him his time and space to be alone, to sort things through on his own. “Tomorrow,” he promises.

Only when Oliver see’s Diggle’s car pull out of the lot on the camera feed does he put down his arrows and consider changing out of his costume. But he’s too wound up, too angry at himself to relax. He unzips the jacket and heads for the salmon ladder, grunting out his frustration with each jump upward.

He’d let himself forget that the first time Superman had visited had been a warning, a message to clean up his act or go to jail. He’d let himself forget that he and Superman were nothing alike, that he was supposed to be focused on the List, on writing his father’s wrongs. The black archer is still out there, no doubt taking orders from whoever wrote the List, and Oliver needs to continue his search for them instead of taking the time to meet with aliens on rooftops.

But what he doesn’t _understand_ , he thinks with a huff of frustration as he lets go of the bar and drops to the ground, is why Superman continues to seek him out.

( _He’s lonely,_  part of Oliver’s brain suggests - the part that actually thought he could have some sort of relationship with the caped hero. Oliver ignores that part.)

Shaking his head, Oliver casts aside the thoughts of Superman, puts the superhero out of his mind altogether, and goes to change. He’s still wired up but he’s going to use his energy for research rather than worrying about Superman. After showering and slipping into clean clothes, Oliver plants himself in front of his computer and gets to work. He has a mission to focus on.

(He doesn’t sleep that night.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Midnight Sunset on FF.net for looking things over, and thanks to everyone interested in this story who was willing to wait this long for the next chapter!
> 
> This was written way before Elseworlds, and anyway, it was an attempt to combine canon Earth-1 with canon Earth-38, so Batman does exist in this story, though he won't play a large part. Also, despite the way it may seem in this chapter, Superman will not have a large part in this story (or series) either. He's just the catalyst for the canon divergence, so I need him to stick around for a little while. (My hope, eventually, if I ever get that far, is to create a Justice League where the "big three", so to speak, are Oliver, Barry, and Kara instead of Clark, Bruce, and Diana.)
> 
> Chapter 3: Change, is completely written and will be posted February 5th, so sorry for another long wait and thanks again to everyone who stuck around!


	4. Change

_February 5 - March 24, 2013:_

Oliver throws himself back into his work, ignoring the media that calls him a hero after saving the fire chief. He’s not.

He tells Diggle about Superman, making it clear that he doesn’t want to discuss their last conversation. They chase down armored car robberies committed by Diggle’s old commanding officer, which at least distracts the man from Superman even if it means he and Diggle fight over the right way to approach things. Thea gets into a car accident and Oliver curses himself. He’d known about her drug problem but he hadn’t done anything - nothing productive at least.

So now he’s got the List to work on, a missing stepfather to locate, and a sister with a drug problem to worry about. And the possibility that his mother might be involved in the very same thing his father had been. Taking down the Count is easy compared to confronting his mother but neither situation goes well.

In the end, he gets shot and drags another innocent into his crusade. Felicity doesn’t like his methods, despite the fact that Oliver hasn’t killed anyone since his first talk with Superman, but she wants to find his stepfather as well. Oliver knows she’ll keep the secret. He wouldn’t have told her otherwise.

With help from his partners, one new one old, Oliver stops a jewel thief, reveals his identity to Tommy to save Malcolm’s life, and has to deal with Helena again before he sees Superman a fourth time.

Like every time previously, he’s wandering the rooftops, this time frustrated by his inability to find another vigilante who’d popped up, filming his victims before killing them. Felicity and Diggle, equally frustrated with their own inability to help and Oliver’s bad mood, had gone home hours ago. Out on the streets, Oliver has stopped two muggings, a carjacking, and gave pause to some would-be petty thieves when he simply loomed over the alley from the roof above them.

It helps, but lately Oliver’s life has been one frustration after another. Felicity continues to find fault in his methods, Tommy hates what he’s become, it’s his fault Helena became who she is now, he and Diggle have fought about how to handle Deadshot, his latest attempt at romance moved to another city after being shot in the line of duty, and now there’s another vigilante out there killing people. He’s frustrated, like he always seems to be when meeting Superman.

This time at least, he manages not to snap at the caped hero. Instead, as Superman lights down on the roof next to him, Oliver nods cordially in greeting as he clicks on the voice synthesizer. “Saw your work with the tsunami - nice job,” he says.

Superman just grimaces, shrugging slightly. “Thanks but, I could have done more. I _should_ have done more.”

And that… that is exactly the same thing Oliver thinks, time after time. It’s probably hypocritical of him to disagree but - he shakes his head. “I saw the footage, you did all you could have. Even you can’t save everyone.”

Superman’s reaction is mixed, caught somewhere between still wishing he had done more and knowing that Oliver is right, but Oliver doesn’t give him much time to respond.

He nods in the direction he’d been heading, then starts walking. “Just patrolling for the night,” he says, “you’re welcome to join me.”

Superman quirks an eyebrow slightly but follows after Oliver. His footsteps are light and silent, his cape blowing slightly in the wind, and despite the circumstances Oliver feels strangely calm. For several blocks, Superman acts as nothing more than a silent shadow, wandering Star City with its hero (as the media has taken to calling him. Oliver’s not sure he agrees with the assessment).

“I know we got off to a rough start, but if I said something to upset you…” Superman finally says.

Oliver cuts him off. “You didn’t.” He’d interfered where he shouldn’t have, during that first conversation, but he’d only spoken the truth.

“Because you were right,” Superman says. “I know how to manage my strength in everyday situations but not in a fight. Most of the time that’s not a problem, but, it could be.”

“Look - I know you think that we’re similar but the truth is I only stopped killing people because I didn’t want you to stop _me_ from my mission,” Oliver says bluntly, turning to face the caped hero. “I’m not the man for the job.”

“And now?” Superman asks calmly, unsurprised by Oliver’s outburst.

“Now what?”

“You said you stopped killing because of me. But that was months ago. How do you feel about it now?”

Oliver turns away, staring out at the cityscape, unable to think of an answer. Has Superman’s threat really just turned into an excuse to stop killing, to finally stop hurting people? His father’s mission means everything to him, it’s half the reason he returned, but lately… lately it’s only been half his focus as a vigilante. He’s been going after bank robbers and jewel thieves, patrolling the alleys late at night and stopping crime as he sees it happen. It is… not at all what he’d thought he’d be doing when he’d first put on the hood. But then, he hadn’t thought he’d have two amazing partners either.

“Because the media is calling you a hero. You saved Star City’s fire chief, stopped an international jewel thief, took down Count Vertigo, all without killing. They’re calling you Green Arrow.”

“The Green Arrow?” Oliver asks in astonishment, choosing to focus only on that part of the conversation.

Superman shrugs sheepishly. “I might have talked to a reporter friend of mine. She added the green to distinguish you from the other archer.”

 _Lois Lane, probably_ , Oliver concludes silently. He’s done his homework and she was the first reporter to ever interview Superman, shortly after he’d first put on the cape. “Could be worse,” he says gruffly, still ignoring the other half of what Superman was saying.

Superman is surprisingly good at reading him though and clearly realizes that Oliver is avoiding the topic. He goes silent, waiting for Oliver to speak.

But Oliver can play the silent game all night if he has to - avoiding talking about things has become Oliver Queen’s favorite game, especially when it comes to the island. He needs time to think about what Superman has said before he even considers a response. Oliver hasn’t killed anyone in months, though he’s still put arrows through quite a few non-vital body parts, and he’s almost completely adjusted to that. It’s still a reflex to aim for center mass, to instantly calculate the quickest way to take someone down as he aims his arrows at them, but it’s also practically instinct by now to pause and consider the best way to take them down without killing them - and Oliver’s good enough to do so.

“Why do you want _my_ help?” Oliver asks suddenly after a minute, shifting the topic down a slightly different track. “You don’t like my methods. There has to be someone else you can ask.”

Superman frowns thoughtfully. “Other people who can fight, sure. But other people who put on a suit and go out looking for crime on their own - pretty sure you’re the only other person I can talk to.”

“We can’t be the only two,” Oliver growls out doubtfully, finally stopping his patrol over the rooftops. He moves to climb down a fire escape and Superman floats down beside him.

“There have been other attempts,” Superman admits. “Other rumors. People who have retired or disappeared by now. I spoke to a man in Gotham, but he didn’t want anything to do with me. This is dangerous work. Most people don’t last long. And you seem to know what you’re doing.”

“I’m nobody,” Oliver says blankly, jumping to the ground.

“But you’re _not_ ,” Superman vehemently protests. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. You have to watch the news, you have to know how this city feels about you.”

“They think I’m a murderer,” Oliver says shortly.

“Some of them do. But lately, when there’s trouble, Star City looks to you for help.”

Oliver thinks of the current situation, of the horror and outcry from Star City’s citizens when they were forced to watch the other vigilante kill. The police are on the situation, Oliver knows, but he also knows that a lot of people are expecting him to get there first. It’s a lot of pressure on his shoulders (though it’s nothing to Oliver compared to the pressure he puts on himself), but it only proves Superman right.

He blinks and looks up. Without thinking he’s led them back in the direction of Verdant and the foundry basement, slipping down in an alley not far from his side entrance. Oliver doesn’t pause in his movements though, doesn’t give any outward indication of his sudden realization, instead managing to change direction in a way that seems natural.

Superman could probably easily discover who he is or where he keeps his equipment, but Oliver’s not going to make it any easier on him. Besides, taking him to the club would link him with Oliver Queen - with Thea and his mother and Tommy and Laurel and even Digg and Felicity. Oliver knows Superman is a far better man than he has ever been or will ever be, but that’s not the problem. The problem is him, and his paranoia, and his fear and lack of trust. A good man and a useful ally Superman may be, but Oliver can’t bring himself to trust him. Not like that. ( _“The only man you can trust is yourself,”_ Anatoly’s words ring in his head.)

Instead he weaves his way around the buildings to an abandoned warehouse only a couple blocks from Verdant. Inside, he quirks an eyebrow at Superman, sets down his bow and takes off his quiver. (He’s not leaving himself completely unarmed, Oliver mentally calculates. He’s still got his flechettes on his arms and a knife in his boot.

“Punch me,” he says, facing Superman.

Superman whips his head around wildly to stare at Oliver. “I’m sorry?” he asks.

“You said you know how to control your strength, so if you want me to help you, punch me,” Oliver repeats.

Looking extremely hesitant, Superman throws a sloppy punch in his direction. Oliver dodges it easily.

“Again,” he says.

This time Superman concentrates a bit harder, puts more power into his punch. Oliver still dodges it easily.

“Again,” he repeats.

Before Oliver knows it, an hour has passed. They’ve done nothing more than work on the basics, but there’s a lot that goes along with throwing a proper punch if you plan to continue fighting. He corrects Superman’s stance, the way he holds his fist, how he reels his arm back before trying to hit Oliver. It’s light work - neither of them break a sweat (though Oliver’s not sure if Superman even can sweat) - but it’s calming.

When Superman moves to leave, no doubt having heard a crime or natural disaster in progress, Oliver stops him.

“Wait.” His hood is still up, his face still hidden, and he’s revealed nothing of who he is to the superhero but tonight has been… relaxing. “If you ever want to do this again…” he offers hesitantly.

Superman nods gratefully. “I know how to find you,” he agrees.

Oliver nods back in return and watches as Superman blurs away. Even after the man of steel is gone, Oliver stands there for a moment and stares after him. He’d just given rudimentary fighting lessons to the most powerful man on Earth and not once had he thought of the island, or Slade Wilson and Shado and Yao Fei - though he’s thinking of them now. It’s a bittersweet moment, and he wonders what the three of them would think of him now.

Slade would laugh, he knows. The man would have thought him crazy for trying to be a vigilante, for thinking he can clean up his city singlehandedly. But Oliver’s not really alone, not anymore. He has Digg and Felicity, and now, apparently, Superman on his side. (The Slade before the Mirakuru would have gone along with him though, he knows, would have complained and laughed all the while, but he would have helped.)

Yao Fei, he thinks, would be supportive. He’d approve and he’d help. He’d be proud, Oliver thinks, of the man he’s become.

Shado though… Oliver doesn’t know how she would react. Somewhere between the two men, he supposes. Approving of the goal but thinking the method is crazy. Or maybe she would be all for it, would try even harder than Oliver to fight back against corruption. He doesn’t really know and that, like all his memories of the island, hurts.

But thinking about Shado makes him remember Sara too, and her second and final death, and that’s not a good place for Oliver to go. He shakes his head, clearing his thoughts, and goes to pick up his bow. He has a vigilante to find.

* * *

* * *

_March 25, 2013, just before midnight:_

When Oliver gets to the club the next night he doesn’t have time to tell Digg and Felicity about his encounter with Superman - another person’s been taken and this time it’s Thea’s friend Roy.

Still dressed in a suit, Oliver leaves Thea with Tommy and hurries downstairs to find Diggle and Felicity hard at word.

“Anything?” he asks hastily, moving toward the computers.

Felicity pulls off her headphones, shaking her head in a frustrated no. “I’ve been going through all the video we got, trying to see if there’s anything that’ll tell us where this guy is. I got nothing, except a sound. Buried in the ambient noise. Almost rhythmic,” she gestures at the sound saves on the screen in front of her. “Here, I’ve isolated it.”

Oliver can’t place it, can feel his frustration mounting, but Diggle puts a headphone to his ear and remembers Star City’s old subway, long since abandoned. Pulling off his jacket as Felicity narrows down the location, Oliver hurries to change into his other suit.

He makes it to the moving subway car just in time, crashing through a window and hastily throwing a flechette next to Roy’s bound hands, hoping the kid will be able to free himself.

“Let the kid go,” Oliver demands, aiming an arrow at the vigilante in front of him. “You kill this kid, he’ll never get an opportunity to change! You can give him a second chance.”

But when Joseph Falk tries to draw a comparison between them, tries to justify his actions, Oliver stops listening, stops trying to give Falk his own second chance.

“What’s the difference between you and me?” Falk asks wildly.

“I stopped killing months ago,” Oliver growls angrily. Maybe it’s hypocritical to hate the comparison - Oliver will always be a killer, and it’s Superman who forced him to change - but he’s stuck with his new methods and he doesn’t plan on changing that. Besides, Oliver has never targeted people like Roy, people whose cities have failed them, rather than the other way around. And he’s never displayed the deaths he’s caused to the public. Shifting his aim he lets loose his arrow.

Flying forward, the sharpened metal only just nicks Falk on his side, shooting past him to embed itself in the end of the train car behind Roy, but the small injury is enough.

Falk glances down in surprise at the brief pain and Oliver acts. He surges forward, using his bow to knock Falk’s gun out of his hand. It’s a challenge fighting in the tight space but Oliver’s fought in worse situations and Falk isn’t exactly skilled at hand to hand. Oliver has him face down, zip tying his hands behind his back, by the time Roy uses the fletchette to free one of his hands.

Glancing around, Oliver uses the duct tape Falk had used on his victims to wrap his ankles together, then tape over his mouth. He doesn’t bother to be gentle. Then he slips out of the car while Roy frees his other hand and makes his way to the front to stop the train.

“It’s over,” he says to Digg and Felicity, switching off the voice synthesizer as the subway slows to a stop. “Get the cops to my location?”

 _“How’s the kid?”_ Diggle asks.

“Alive,” Oliver says, jumping from the subway and retreating down the tracks slightly. He doesn’t want to be there when the police start to swarm but he can’t leave until he knows they’ll take Falk into custody. Through the dim lighting he spots Roy prying the doors open and wandering into the abandoned station.

 _“And Falk?”_ Felicity asks hesitantly.

A small part of Oliver aches at their lack of trust in his resolve not to kill but he pushes it aside, swallows it down, and there’s no trace of it in his voice when he speaks. “Restrained. The SCPD will take him into custody.” Besides, he deserves the suspicion. He’d only stopped killing to get off Superman’s radar and it’s only lately that he’s realized he prefers it that way.

The link goes silent again but Oliver can picture the look Diggle and Felicity are no doubt sharing. Part relief, part disbelief.

Oliver stays at the scene until he sees the police take Roy to the surface and drag Falk out of the train car. Then he slips back up to the surface and makes his way back to where he’d parked his motorcycle.

At the club, Oliver changes quickly and makes his way upstairs to check on Thea. He goes past Diggle and Felicity as he moves, but they understand the simple nod he gives them and understand that they can talk once he knows his sister is alright. Oliver hovers at the balcony upstairs, watching Tommy comfort Thea, not wanting to intrude. Tommy isn’t too fond of him at the moment and he’d left promising Thea results. He pauses where neither of them can see him, watching two of his favorite people in the world fondly.

It isn’t long before Roy enters the club, no doubt having turned down any offered medical treatment from the police, and Oliver realizes the moment has passed. He stays only long enough to watch Thea greet Roy in an enthusiastic hug, then makes his way back downstairs.

“Thea’s friend is upstairs,” Felicity tells him when he reaches the bottom of the steps.

“I saw,” he says plainly.

“You probably saw that they were happy to see each other, if you know what I mean,” Felicity continues, pausing as her brain catches up with her mouth. “Which you probably don’t want to talk about, because she’s your baby sister.

Oliver looks past her babbling with a familiarity that should be unsettling but is instead just comfortable. He thinks back to Felicity’s reaction when she’d had to watch Falk kill two people on a live feed. “You ok?” he asks.

“I’m getting there,” Felicity admits. “Thank you.”

Oliver smiles warmly at her (at least, he hopes the expression is warm, but Felicity seems to be able to draw such emotions out of him) and puts a hand on her shoulder. “By the way,” he starts, “if you ever need to tell someone about your day… you can tell me.”

Felicity smiles gratefully at him in response and Oliver removes his hand from her shoulder.

“There’s something I need to tell both-” Oliver stops mid-sentence, staring at the image on the computer in front of him. All thoughts of Superman and what had happened the previous night are pushed aside: he _knows_ that image. “What is that?” he asks, no, demands.

“Felicity pulled it up,” Diggle says behind him, unaware of the enormity of what they’ve stumbled upon. “It’s an old map of a decommissioned subway line. Runs underneath the low rent district of the city.”

Oliver reaches for the book on the table. “I’ve seen that map before,” he says, flipping open the cover and holding it up to the screen. “It was right in front of our faces the entire time. My father, the other archer, the Undertaking, whatever the plan is… It’s all connected to the Glades.”

Stunned silence greets his words.

Diggle moves forward, coming to stand on Felicity’s other side, and the IT genius furiously types, fingers flying over the keyboard. The area shown in the book is highlighted on screen, focusing on only that section.

“What could they possibly want with the subway?” Felicity wonders, pulling her hands back from the keyboard and staring at the screen. “I mean, I didn’t even know it was there.”

“Maybe that’s the point,” Diggle suggests. “It’s abandoned and stretches across the Glades. Oliver?”

Oliver blinks at his name, refocusing. After so long with no leads, finally they have something, even if he doesn’t know what it means. He looks up at Digg. “What?”

“What do you think?” Digg asks.

Oliver thinks of what they’d done that day, of Harper and Falk and how late it is. “I think it’s late,” he says, rubbing his fingers together and itching to pick up his bow again. He stills himself intentionally, relaxing his muscles and smiling slightly. “Time to head home. One more day won’t hurt.”

At his words, Felicity yawns. “Good point,” she says. “I keep forgetting I have work tomorrow.” She clicks at the keyboard briefly, shutting down the computer for the night. Over her head, Diggle narrows his eyes at Oliver.

“And does that apply to all three of us?” he asks skeptically.

“I don’t have a job,” Oliver reminds him, knowing perfectly well what Diggle is actually asking.

“Wait, you’re going back out there?” Felicity asks, pushing away from the computer.

Oliver frowns. He’d hoped they wouldn’t stick around long enough to realize his plans.

“You just put _that_ suit back on!” Felicity exclaims.

“If you keep trying to do this alone Oliver you’re going to get yourself killed,” Diggle says. It’s a familiar refrain.

Oliver quirks an eyebrow at the both of them. He’s gone on plenty of patrols without either of them there and he’s never been seriously injured during his routine patrols of the city. The List is his mission and, while Diggle and Felicity have agreed to help him with it and he couldn’t have gotten this far without them, it doesn’t mean the same thing to them that it does to him.

Felicity and Diggle level their own stern looks at him, providing a united front. The music pounds from above as the three of them engage in a silent staring contest. Oliver stares back calmly but his fingers rub together again, aching for his bow, for action. (For a shield to hold between him and their disapproval). He’s stubborn, but Felicity and Diggle are obstinate in their own way too.

They break the silence first but that doesn’t mean Oliver gets his own way. As Felicity heads back to her apartment, Oliver lets Diggle drive him home.

* * *

* * *

_March 26, 2013, morning:_

They pull into the Queen mansion at three in the morning - not too late for them but, considering the stress of the day, perhaps not early enough. Oliver nods at Digg as he drives off, thinks again about offering his friend a room on the huge grounds, and then heads inside. In the mansion itself he hesitates between sneaking quietly up to his room, allowing his sister and mother to sleep peacefully, or making a ruckus regardless of whether or not they wake, protecting his playboy reputation.

In the end, Diggle’s recent words about reconnecting with his family and his own worry about how they’re handling his return and Walter’s disappearance wins out. Treading quietly on the carpet is easy, especially since Oliver knows each creaky floorboard in the house, and he makes it to his room without a sound from the rest of the house. Reaching his door, Oliver pauses and focuses his senses. Thea’s room isn’t far from his and if Oliver listens carefully he can just make out the sounds of her sleep.

With a small smile, Oliver pushes his door open and steps inside, quietly closing it behind him. He doesn’t bother to turn on the light, and he’d showered in Verdant’s basement, so he just slips into some comfortable clothing and tries to get comfortable. He’s still wired up and itching to do something with the information they’d just uncovered, but the years away have taught him to take sleep when he can (as well as the value of sleep) and he’s had time to adjust to the soft mattress and blankets, so he falls asleep easily enough.

He wakes once just after five in the morning, sweating and panting silently. Whatever nightmare woke him fades quickly though and Oliver grits his teeth, calms his heart, and forces himself to drift off again. Noise in the house wakes him again at six, his mother moving about and getting ready for work, he surmises shortly, rolling over and letting his tired body relax again. The third time he wakes is to another nightmare, and this one he remembers vividly: it’s not a memory of the island exactly, more of an altered combination of his time away and his time as the Arrow.

Running across rooftops shifts to running through a forest, Diggle and Felicity’s voices in his ear shift to Slade and Shado, then he sees himself stabbing Slade in the eye again, except it’s not Slade, it’s Diggle, and then… Then Oliver wakes, breathing hard as if he’d actually been running. He takes a moment to calm himself, processes the dream, and sets it aside. Just another nightmare, it’s nothing new really. The sun has long since been up and a glance at the clock on his bedside table tells Oliver that it’s just before eleven. By the time he’s exercised, showered, and dressed, it’s just after noon.

Downstairs, Diggle is reading a book in the kitchen, nibbling at the lunch that Raisa had put in front of him, and Oliver grabs a plate for himself. The man gets paid whether or not Oliver leaves the house, but he usually shows up late on Arrow nights.

“Been here long?” Oliver asks with an amused grin, aware that Thea or some of the staff might be nearby. He grabs a piece of fruit - there hadn’t been any apples on the island - and bites into it.

Diggle, playing along, looks unamused. “No, sir,” he says politely, with just a hint of condescension. “I arrived at ten-thirty sharp, just as we discussed.”

Swallowing, Oliver frowns. “Did we say that?” he asks offhandedly. “I must have meant eleven thirty.”

Diggle gives him a decidedly unimpressed look and rolls his eyes. “Where to today, sir?” he asks, his pointed gaze prompting Oliver to add more food to his plate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone keeping up with this story, and a special thanks to everyone who's commented - you guys are the best!
> 
> This should be the last big break between chapters, as we start to diverge more and more from canon, and Chapter 4: For a Friend, should be posted March 26th.


	5. For a Friend

_March 26, 2013, before midnight:_

Oliver goes into the actual club first that night, orders a drink from his friend and gives a charming smile when Tommy hands it over disapprovingly - the kind of smile that’s become a mask these days when he needs the playboy persona to make an appearance. He knows the disapproval has nothing to do with the alcohol.

As the night passes he actually drinks the first and fourth drinks he orders, drains the second down the bathroom sink, and pretends to be far drunker than he is as he spills the third and sixth drinks all within the course of an hour. The fifth one he subtly switches with a random empty glass - his companions are far too drunk to notice. He picks out two women that have been trying to clamber all over him for the past half hour and who look far more smashed than he’s pretending to be (pretty women too, he notes absently, but just a means to an end) and stumbles along after them as they drag him to his limo. He manages to be clumsy enough to dodge an errant kiss and by the time they make it to the hotel room the two quickly pass out on the bed.

Rising, Oliver straightens out his clothing and studies the two slumbering forms before him. From the way they passed out it’s likely they’ll sleep till the morning and based on their current actions there doesn’t seem to be any risk of alcohol poisoning - just some killer headaches when they wake. He glances around the hotel room, messes it up a bit, then leaves. Room service has already been ordered for the morning, a five star breakfast - let them think what they want when the wake. With any luck, they’ll remember more happening than what actually had occurred.

The hotel hallways are brightly lit, but Oliver sneaks to the service stairwell, then slips out a door on the ground floor that lets out behind the building. No one sees him go.

Head down, Oliver quickly walks the three blocks to where Diggle is parked, in a much less conspicuous car than the limo. This time, he slides into the passenger seat.

“I don’t get why you keep doing this man,” Diggle says in greeting, starting up the car.

Oliver gives him a look but doesn’t answer. His mind’s on the Undertaking, and whatever it has to do with Star City’s old, abandoned subway tunnels.

“Alright,” Diggle says in exasperation, “I get why you do it, but do you have to go so far away from the club?”

“Verdant is in the Glades,” Oliver says plainly.

It’s enough of an explanation for Diggle - their customers may find it thrilling to party in the Glades, but they wouldn’t be too happy waking up in a rundown hotel in the worst part of town.

Diggle rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything, which means he both understands and agrees with Oliver’s point but doesn’t want to say that out loud. “Felicity’s already set up in the basement,” he says instead. “You going out tonight?”

Oliver considers it. There’s not much he can do at the club that Felicity can’t do ten times better, and he’d gotten a light workout in earlier that day. He could do some archery practice, but if he goes out he might get some of that in anyway.

“Not after the List,” he decides, “I’m going to search the subway tunnels.” They’re one and the same anyway - whoever wrote the List included the image of the subway tunnels for a reason. It doesn’t matter that it’s been a few days since he’s crossed anyone off, he’s still working on the same goal.

Diggle nods like he was expecting the answer. “And patrolling?” he asks. Diggle and Felicity aren’t always there when he wanders the streets, especially because it’s often a spur of the moment decision Oliver uses to clear his head - but he hadn’t been able to keep that fact from them long. These days they try to stay with him more nights than not. And some nights, like last night, they force him to head home instead.

Oliver shrugs. The List is the only thing clear in his mind right now, his reason for returning to Star City. Finally, they have something resembling an answer. At first Oliver had just thought it was something his father had thrown together, a way to keep track of all of his unfavorable business partners. Now he knows better. Someone had written that list, someone his father had known, and none of the people on it are knowledgeable enough to know about it.

The two of them slip through the side entrance of the club when they get there, avoiding the writhing crowd and pounding music. Oliver throws a quick greeting in Felicity’s direction but moves to change as soon as he enters the basement.

When he emerges his hood is down but he’s otherwise ready to hit the streets.

“Anything?” he asks, standing over Diggle and Felicity at the computer.

“Nothing,” Felicity says, exasperation clear in her tone. “And I mean nothing! There is no official record of anyone even going near the subway since it shut down. No city maintenance, no one tried to buy it, no arrests were made there, not even any noise disturbances! It’s like the city just forgot it existed!”

Oliver doesn’t bother to remind her that that was what made the subway the perfect place for a secret operation. He walks away from the computer table to grab his bow and quiver. “Maybe it’s time we took a more hands on approach,” he suggests rhetorically, turning back to Felicity. “Where do I start?”

* * *

* * *

 

_March 27, 2013, the early hours of the morning:_

Oliver returns to Verdant four hours later, having trekked through several miles of tunnel to no avail. Felicity had guided him for the first two hours, with Digg at her side, but she has a day job and she’s still not entirely comfortable working with him. She’s long since gone home. Digg had stayed until Oliver had left the tunnels but then he had gone home too.

Frustrated by his lack of results, but not surprised, Oliver is still nevertheless pleased that at least one good thing had happened that night: he’d managed to stop a would-be rapist on his way back to the club and the relief on the would-be victim’s face has energized him. (Another symptom, not a root cause, but it’s worth it, Oliver has decided. So long as he keeps targeting the rot beneath them, it’ll always be worth it.)

Back in the foundry, he sets down his bow and pulls off his quiver, deciding to call it a night. He isn’t going to find anything through research that Felicity and Digg hadn’t and the sun will be up in only a couple of hours. He can continue clearing the tunnels the next night.

After changing, Oliver walks through the club upstairs as the staff cleanup for the morning. “How we doing?” he asks as he approaches his best friend.

“We’re in the black, and the green.” Tommy hands him a tablet with their latest financial records on it.

“I like how we’ve gone from throwing money at clubs to catching it,” Oliver notes, shifting into a different mindset and trying to remember what Oliver-from-Before would have said. It’s not as hard, with Tommy, to be casual. He sets the tablet down on the bar as something catches his eye. Not something he cares too much about now, but it’s something Oliver-from-Before would have noticed. “Oh, look at these.” He picks up a black lace bra - one of many in the bin behind the bar. “What sort of business has a lost and found that’s just filled with women’s underwear?”

“The best business ever?” Tommy notes with a smile. It doesn’t even look strained.

Oliver replies with a smile of his own, glad that he can still joke with Tommy despite the weight of the secret that hangs between them. “Ohh, having this much fun should be against the law.” The words come easy even if there’s a hint of a lie in them. (This isn’t the kind of fun Oliver seeks out anymore.)

“Oh, if wishing made it so.”

Glancing over, Oliver is surprised to see Detective Lance approaching them. He’d known there were people moving about the club - he’s not so relaxed that he doesn’t have half his mind on his surroundings - but he’d just assumed the approaching figure was one of the cleaning crew.

“Sorry,” Lance says at their expressions, clearly not apologetic at all. “Am I interrupting anything?”

Oliver doesn’t bother to respond to that but Tommy looks worried.

“Is Laurel ok?” he asks immediately.

“She’s fine. This visit is about something else.”

And that something else is apparently Vertigo, as Oliver shortly finds out. He calms his heart, stills his breath, and focuses on what little Lance is telling them. As the detective leaves, Oliver turns to Tommy. “Is there any chance she could have scored the drugs in here?” he asks.

“I doubt it,” Tommy replies easily, if a little put out. “I try not to hire too many drug dealers.”

“Get me a list of employees anyway,” Oliver suggests, heading back in the direction he’d just come from. He’s only half paying attention to his best friend, distracted instead by what it means that Vertigo is back on the streets. (It means that he failed.) “I’ll have Felicity cross reference it for drug arrests.”

“That includes the two of us, you know,” Tommy points out as they reach the door to the basement. He pauses. “I thought the Arrow finished off the Count,” he continues hesitantly, unsure of himself.

Oliver holds back his anger. Superman had asked him to stop killing and he has. Now a woman is dead because of it. “I did.” It seems he isn’t done for the night after all.

* * *

But the Count is no help, babbling and cackling madly from his locked cell. The Arrow leaves disappointed and without any new leads, unsure of where to go next. The Count is the only one who’d known the formula, but he’s in no condition to remember anything at the moment. Diggle and Felicity went home hours ago, so when Oliver returns to the basement of Verdant for the second time that night (morning) he figures he’ll actually call it a night. He doesn’t like it but he needs sleep himself. The Vertigo problem can wait until he’s caught a few hours of rest.

* * *

* * *

_March 28 - March 29, 2013:_

The next night Oliver is the first to the club, texting Digg as soon as he gets off his motorcycle. Verdant’s business doesn’t seem to have been affected by the woman’s death, but then, the news of Vertigo’s reappearance hasn’t quite hit the mainstream media yet. Oliver ignores the pounding music and writhing crowd and takes the side entrance to the basement. He pulls up all the old data he was on Vertigo, it’s distributors, and how to make it, and gets to work.

“Got here as quickly as I could,” Digg says fifteen minutes later, hurrying to join Oliver at the computers. “This about the glyph in your father’s notebook?”

“Felicity is still working on that,” Oliver says. “We have another problem.” He brings up a news clip on the computer and plays it for Digg.

_“Star City is once again at war with the drug known on the streets as Vertigo. It used to be the city’s most lethal vice but the purple and green pill was nowhere to be found for the last three months.”_

Oliver mutes the sound.

“Over the past few days, the city has been flooded with a new version of Vertigo,” Oliver explains - which is how he knows someone isn’t just spreading around old stock. “More addictive, more unstable.” He sighs, remembering his failure. “It killed a girl in the club. Just like it almost killed Thea.”

And so they get to work. Felicity arrives moments after Digg, with news of the Count’s escape from the Star County Institute for Mental Health. With no leads on where the escaped criminal could be, or where they’re manufacturing the drugs, the team quickly takes advantage of unfortunate stereotypes and send Digg out to buy Vertigo. (Although, stereotypes aside, Oliver would be too noticeable and Felicity… they’re not sending Felicity to buy Vertigo.)

When Diggle returns with the drugs, it’s Oliver’s turn to head out. He puts on the hood and moves for his motorcycle. Though it will take a while for the money to get back to the drug’s source he can be patient. He circles around the Glades for a while, taking back alleys and little used roads, until Felicity narrows in on the end of the money trail and sends him the dealer’s location.

With that information in hand Oliver manages to break up a drug deal but not get the dealer himself. He returns to the basement, frustrated, just in time for Felicity to send him out again - Diggle having already left. Before leaving, Oliver grabs some of the herbs he’d kept from the island, mixing them together as Felicity watches in confusion.

“There’s a lunatic high on Vertigo who’s taking hostages and you’re making… making tea.”

Oliver puts the herbs in his small centrifuge to mix and turns to her. “They’re medicinal herbs from the island. They counterbalance the effects of certain drugs and poisons,” he explains. “They should counteract the effects of Vertigo.” The machine beeps and he pulls out the tube, filling one of his injection arrows.

Felicity looks surprised. “I figured you would just…” she mimes shooting an arrow.

Oliver may have stopped killing as the Arrow, but he isn’t known for being gentle either. Felicity’s confusion is understandable. “My sister got high on this garbage. Could have killed someone. She didn’t deserve an arrow. This guy didn’t fail the city.” He looks her in the eye. “The city failed him. And so did I.”

“What’s happening now isn’t your fault,” Felicity argues. “You didn’t make him take the drugs.”

“No, but I did fail to put the Count in a grave so deep that he couldn’t come back and hurt anyone again.” Superman had told him to stop killing and he has. So far, Oliver hasn’t regretted that decision but now…

“You caught him,” she says. “They locked him up.”

The dam holding back Oliver’s emotions cracks ever so slightly. “And now the city is on fire!” he says angrily, almost raising his voice, but not quite. “So, clearly, I should have thought twice.” He stands and then takes a calming breath, patching the dam back together and stopping the trickle of anger and self-loathing running through him. “Get in touch with Diggle,” he tells Felicity in a calmer voice. “With the security feed out, I’m going to need a second set of eyes at the aquarium.”

But Diggle never shows and Oliver is too late to help the addict high on Vertigo - just another failure to add to his long list. And, as if the week couldn’t get any worse, Oliver makes it to the club the next day just in time for Lance to show up with a search warrant.

Oliver hesitates, cursing himself. His internal anger and self-loathing swells, but the dam holds it back. He’d prepared for the contingency of people suspecting he was the Arrow - how could he have never considered anyone would want to enter the basement? Reluctantly, Oliver types in the code (though, even still, even now, he makes sure Lance can’t see the numbers he presses, nevermind that if he makes it through this he’ll be changing the code).

“Thank you,” Lance says, derision dripping from his words.

With the detective leading the way, they make their way to the basement. Oliver tenses, readying himself for a fight, or to run, running through plans in his mind, but when Tommy flips the light switch (lever, really) he sees something that he isn’t expecting: his equipment is gone and in its place is, well, what you would expect to find in the storage area of a club. Furniture and crates and wine.

Frustrated, Lance looks around, even opens one of the boxes, but he leaves disappointed. Laurel unnecessarily apologizes for her father’s actions, and then she too leaves. It’s just Oliver and Tommy left in the club.

“Is there something you want to say to me?” Tommy asks, anger in his voice as he storms over to the bar.

He’s likely mad about being made an accomplice in Oliver’s crimes but Oliver has never been more grateful for his best friend. “Thank you,” he says sincerely.

But the vigilante thing, that’s not what Tommy’s mad about, not entirely.

“No, I meant the thing that you were thinking when Lance accused me of dealing out of the club.” He glares at Oliver.

Oliver sighs. “I don’t understand why you wouldn’t just tell me about the bribe,” he admits honestly.

“I run the club, Oliver. I don’t tell you a lot of things,” Tommy replies angrily. He walks around Oliver and picks up his clipboard, seemingly only to have something to do with his restless energy. “So let me ask you a question, pal.” He slams the board down on the bar. “What have I done in the last six months that would lead you to believe that I would sell drugs?”

“In the last six months? Nothing.”

“Yeah,” Tommy spits out.

Oliver stands quickly and turns to face him. He can understand Tommy hating and fearing him because of the Arrow (and maybe that’s partially what’s fueling his best friend) but this… “Before I left, you played hard,” he says strongly. “You played with bad people who were into bad stuff.”

“And so did you, Oliver!” Tommy yells. “But I changed, just like you did. Now you put arrows into people who do illegal things.” He holds out his arms, as though making himself a larger target. “Last time I checked, bribing a city inspector was not legal.”

Oliver stares at his friend in shock. “Do you actually think that I could hurt you?” he asks, incredulous.

“Truthfully, I have no idea what the hell you would do,” Tommy spits out. “You are a complete mystery to me. I’ve got no idea how you find it so easy to kill people. The next time you decide to think the worst of me, imagine what I now think of you.” He jams his finger into Oliver’s chest and starts to storm off.

Oliver stands there, thunderstruck. He knows Tommy has problems with his night time activities, but for Tommy to think that Oliver would actually hurt him… His mind goes back to Hong Kong, to looking down a sniper’s scope at his best friend’s back and making a decision. Even in his worst moments, he would never hurt Tommy. (His mind pictures Superman’s stern and disappointed face. The faces of the people he’s saved. That small boy, waving up at him from an alley all those months ago. He could never hurt Tommy.)

“You’re right,” Oliver says desperately as Tommy turns away. He’d revealed himself to his best friend to save his father, knowing it might split them apart, but now that the moment has come he cannot lose Tommy. He can’t, and he’s finally found the words to say so. “You’re right and I was wrong.”

Tommy pauses, turning to face him. His face is still blank, disapproving and afraid of what Oliver’s become at the same time, but Oliver can tell he’s listening.

“We’ve both changed. I’m a killer” - present tense, because changing his methods in the present does nothing to account for his actions in the past - “and you’re… I know you wouldn’t do this. I knew you wouldn’t do this.” Digg walks in but Oliver pays him no mind, his entire focus on Tommy. “It’s been five years, can you, can you blame me for wondering how you handled my… my death?” he asks.

They haven’t really talked about it, just jokes about his funeral, comments on how his family had missed him, revelations about Tommy’s new relationship with Laurel - but not how Tommy had handled the death of his best friend. And Oliver knows he hadn’t handled it well, had traveled halfway across the world years after Oliver had gone missing based on the slightest bit of hope. What else might Tommy have done, to drown his sorrows?

Tommy falters. “Oliver…” he starts, taking a hesitant step back toward him.

Behind Tommy, Digg wisely backs out of the room, no doubt taking the side entrance to the basement. Oliver’s mind goes to their current Vertigo problem, to Thea, the woman from their club, the man from the aquarium. All those who have already or might still suffer from its effects. He shakes his head.

“I have to go,” he says. “Just…” but he’s run out of words, doesn’t know what to say next.

Tommy still looks hesitant, but not angry. “Vertigo?” he asks. It’s the first time he’s shown any interest in Oliver’s activities as the Arrow.

Oliver nods.

Still hesitant, Tommy seems to come to some sort of decision. He steels his expression and faces Oliver head on. “Go get the son of a bitch.”

Oliver nods a second time, more firmly, an agreement and a promise. With a backward glance at Tommy, he heads back for the basement.

* * *

His anger and irritation at the situation had faltered when Tommy had almost left, but now that he’s still got a chance with his best friend, Oliver is much calmer than before. He’s still angry that following Superman’s command had left the city in this position but with Tommy’s blessing he’s going to stop the Count a second time.

“Where were you?” he asks Digg as he reaches the bottom of the steps.

Diggle turns, confused. “What?”

“I asked Felicity to get in touch with you.” There’s a touch of annoyance in Oliver’s tone that he doesn’t bother to mask. “There was a hostage situation at the aquarium.”

Diggle sighs. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get that message till it was over,” he explains.

The irritation rises. The situation could have been so much worse than it had been and Oliver hadn’t had the backup he’d been expecting. “Why?”

“Because I was busy doing something else.”

Oliver glances at him curiously, keeping his expression neutral.

“Lawton,” Digg says simply.

Oliver feels the expected anger - Diggle had been pursuing a personal vendetta while Star City was torn apart by Vertigo - and his body stills as he works to calm his mind. His fingers rub together, itching to shoot something.

“Oliver, you didn’t end up needing me,” Diggle says, evidently noticing the change in Oliver’s body language.

“You couldn’t have known that,” he bites out.

“In other words, find your brother’s killer on your own time, right?” Digg asks harshly.

It’s his second argument of the night but, somehow, Oliver had managed to defuse the first. Being an archer was about patience and precision. It took far more control and focus than just aiming a gun. Rubbing his fingers together again, Oliver reminds himself of that control.

“Right now,” he growls out through gritted teeth, “Vertigo is the priority.”

Diggle looks like he’s about to argue. He moves forward, mouth open, before closing it and spinning away again. In frustration he half-heartedly punches a nearby table. Oliver’s anger softens at the reminder of how much this means to his friend.

“I will help you catch Lawton,” he promises. “But _not. Now._ ” He emphasizes his words strongly, staring Diggle down.

Growling in frustration, Diggle spins back around to face him. He runs a hand over his head, letting out a breath. “Where do we start?”

By the time Felicity gets there just ten minutes later, they haven’t gotten far. He and Diggle may be decent with computers but they’re nowhere near the tech wizard Felicity is.

“Hey guys,” she says as she walks in, “surprised to see you here.”

Oliver ignores the obvious sarcasm as Diggle glances up and gives her a fond smile.

“What are you working on?” she asks as she reaches the bottom step, moving straight for the computers.

“The hostage-taking junkie,” Oliver says shortly. “He’s the only lead to the Count we’ve got left.”

And with that the three of them get to work. With Felicity’s help they manage to figure out that the Count likely hasn’t left the institution. When Oliver heads out, he’s got a hood on his head, a bow at his side, and Digg watching his back.

* * *

Inside a deserted wing of the asylum, Oliver quickly tracks down the Count. As Diggle stands watch, Oliver draws an arrow and approaches the Count.

“I should have killed you when I had the chance,” he growls at the figure. The Count doesn’t move. “Turn around.”

Digg, who’s moved forward to clear the room, shoots him a look. He opens his mouth, as if about to speak, but quickly changes his words with a glance at the Count. “Ol - Arrow,” he says firmly.

Oliver moves forward to see what Digg is looking at: the Count, strapped to the chair he sits in with a vacant expression on his face and blank eyes. There are leads monitoring his brainwaves and some sort of medication, likely a sedative, is being pumped into his veins. The Count is not the threat.

A sound from behind has Oliver spinning around again, raising the bow he’d unconsciously lowered. He turns just in time to see Diggle hit from behind and reacts instantaneously. The man standing there, dressed as an orderly, falls next to Diggle with an arrow in his thigh. The pipe he’d used to take out the bodyguard clatters to the ground beside him.

Oliver moves forward, kicking the pipe away and crouching to check Diggle’s pulse. It’s steady. Ignoring the moaning from the injured man, Oliver grabs Diggle’s gun just in case the criminal gets any ideas, stands, nocks another arrow, and makes his way cautiously out of the room.

The doctor who’d spoken to Lance about the Count is there, hastily throwing things into a bag. Oliver calmly points his arrow at him.

“Don’t. Move.” The voice synthesizer is on and his voice rings out loudly, harsh and commanding.

The doctor freezes instantly, back to Oliver. After a second’s hesitation he tries to make a break for the door. Oliver puts an arrow in his shoulder without any hesitation on his own part. The man falls with a mangled, halted scream. He collapses to his knees in the doorway. Oliver draws another arrow as he approaches him.

“How did you get the formula for Vertigo?” he asks harshly, demanding.

The doctor curses, clenching his fists and bending over in pain.

“How?!” Oliver orders.

“His kidneys,” the doctor breathes out. “I ordered a biopsy on his kidneys and reverse engineered the chemical compound of the drug.” His voice is shaky, desperate, and in pain. He won’t be going anywhere.

Oliver knocks him to the ground with one punch, then regains his grip on his bow. Raising it again, he returns to the room that holds the Count. The orderly has crawled over to where he kicked the pipe and is standing on one leg as he holds it, leaning heavily against the wall. Oliver calmly points an arrow at his heart. The orderly drops the pipe.

Not taking his eyes off of the man, Oliver crouches near Diggle again and tries to rouse him. It isn’t long before Digg groans, eyes fluttering. Suddenly he bolts upright, groaning and grabbing his head at the sudden movement.

“What happened?” he asks, blinking away the pain.

Silently, Oliver hands him his gun back and nods in the direction of the frozen orderly. With difficulty, but no help from Oliver, Diggle stands and makes his way towards the man. With one blow from the butt of his gun, he knocks the man into unconsciousness.

The Count looks around at the action but the sedative hasn’t quite worn off yet. Oliver hesitates, then shifts his bow to aim directly at the man’s heart. Wracked with indecision he doesn’t know what to do next. He’d promised Superman he’d stop killing but that promise had only led to more deaths. Except they hadn’t been the Count’s fault, exactly, just another symptom of the blatant corruption that ran free in Star City. If the Count had had a different doctor…

But Oliver hadn’t even killed the doctor and his minion - why would he break his agreement with Superman for this man? He thinks of Tommy wishing him luck for this mission. He lowers his bow and turns to Diggle, who’d been watching silently.

“We’re finished here,” he says, nodding at the man on the floor. “You grab him, I’ll get the other one.”

Together they drag the men onto gurneys, strapping them down and wrapping their wounds (with the arrows still in them) so they won’t bleed out. After telling Felicity to contact the police, and trusting that the evidence in the room will be enough to put the criminals away for a long time, Oliver and Diggle leave the way they came.

* * *

Back at Verdant, Oliver sends Felicity and Diggle home, then walks upstairs just as Tommy leaves his office.

“Hey. How we doing?” Oliver asks, trying to keep things light. Let Tommy take the question how he wants.

Tommy freezes at seeing him. “In the black,” he says half-heartedly, staring at Oliver. “Did the Arrow get his man?”

Oliver pauses himself. “The responsible parties will be going to jail,” he says. “No one died.”

“The news said you stopped killing…” Tommy trails off hesitantly.

Oliver can’t take credit for that, because it wasn’t his idea, but he feels something lighten inside of him at the idea that Tommy agrees with his new methods. “Yes,” he responds plainly.

With a deep breath, Tommy musters up his courage. “Look, this club is important to me but for you it’s just a front. You want me to keep your secret, help you be this thing you’ve become, but you didn’t see me for what _I’ve_ become.”

Oliver opens his mouth to speak, to explain again or beg if necessary, but Tommy holds up a hand to stop him.

“No, hold on,” he says. “You’ve stopped killing, and you saved my dad, and there are all these stories from all over the city of the people you’ve saved. A woman actually ran into the club the other night - said the Hood guy saved her from some creep.”

“They’re calling me Green Arrow now,” Oliver says absently. He knows who Tommy is talking about, she’d been so grateful, but she’d run off before Oliver could ask her if she’d wanted to go to the police.

Tommy scoffs. “Maybe, according to the Daily Planet, but not here in Star City. I’ll give you the Arrow but you’re still just a guy in a hood.” He pauses, then locks eyes with Oliver again. “But this time it was you who was right - neither of us quite understands who the other has become.” He takes a step forward and stretches a hand toward Oliver. “I’m willing to give it a try if you are.”

Oliver takes the outstretched hand gladly.

* * *

 

The next time he meets Diggle in the basement, they get to work searching for Floyd Lawton.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I forgot to post yesterday, sorry about that! But Chapter 5: Out of Town, is finished, and will be posted on April 3rd (assuming all goes to plan). Thanks for your patience.


	6. Out of Town

_ April 3, 2013, late morning: _

When Oliver makes it downstairs Tuesday, four days after the Vertigo situation, his mom and Thea are in the dining room, eating lunch together. Oliver thinks about sneaking past to the kitchen and grabbing his own meal, as he usually does, but decides against it. Diggle keeps telling him he needs to connect with his family. Speaking of Digg… Oliver nods at his bodyguard standing just inside the dining room door and throws himself into the seat across from Thea.

He still feels stiff and uncomfortable in his own home but he manages to slouch in the chair, looking casual and relaxed and irresponsible.

“Good morning, Oliver,” his mother says, far too polite and proper for a simple family lunch between the three of them. Of course, Moira Queen doesn’t  _ do _ simple, or casual for that matter. She’s chastising him for both his posture and his lateness but despite her tone Oliver doesn’t bother to straighten in his seat.

“Morning,” he returns lazily, reaching for a banana. (God he’d missed fruit.) Like always, there is far too much food on the table for just the three of them and part of Oliver cringes at the waste. On the island there had been times when he would have killed for this much food. Possibly literally. 

Thea hides a smirk at his reaction and Oliver throws a wink at her. It feels good to connect with his sister again, even in these small ways, but even as Oliver jokes around he can’t convince himself to relax completely. Part of it is the way he’ll always be tense, always looking over his shoulder for threats for the rest of his life. The other part is because family meals are not exactly common at Queen Manor.

“What’s the occasion?” he asks, peeling back the banana’s outer layer. 

His mother frowns at him but doesn’t correct his behavior (he’d gotten away with far too much before the island and that doesn’t seem to have changed since he’s been back). “Bruce Wayne is hosting his second annual Wayne Foundation Charity Ball this weekend, a fundraiser for various national charities,” she says properly, expectantly. 

Oliver and Thea are well versed at reading between the lines: Bruce Wayne is throwing a party and they will be attending.

But Thea doesn’t seem as upset about the trip all the way across the country to Gotham as Oliver would have expected. “Bruce Wayne?” she asks in surprise, turning her full attention to their mother. 

Oliver searches his pre-island memories for the name. The Waynes ran in the same circles as the Queens and Oliver had met Bruce once or twice when they’d both been young. But after Bruce’s parents had died the Wayne name had faded from the spotlight. He’d be about… twenty-six or twenty-seven now, Oliver mentally calculates, and probably just as spoiled and bratty as Oliver had been pre-island.

“Yes,” his mother says in answer to Thea. “We will be leaving at eight a.m. Saturday and I expect you  _ both  _ to be at the airfield promptly.”

Right, because of course they’re taking their private jet.

“Kinda late notice, isn’t it?” Thea asks. “Were we even invited last year?”

Oliver thinks about interjecting before their mother can, about asking why and when Wayne had decided to throw an annual party (as far as he can remember the man had been on some sort of world-wide travel binge before the  _ Gambit  _ had sank). He shifts, then stills himself again. No, asking that sort of question is only a reminder that he’d been away, something neither Thea nor his mother needs right now. Especially not with Walter still missing.

So he listens to his mother talk about proper behavior and what she expects from them and to Thea’s excitement at the flashy party and, apparently, meeting Bruce Wayne. 

He thinks of having to put on the playboy persona for the day, about the time it will take away from his mission, about how he won’t just be able to slip away because he’ll be in Gotham, not Star City.

“I’ll be there,” is what he says instead. He throws his banana peel down on his plate and stands, grabbing a sandwich and an apple for the road. His mother looks like she wants to say something but she doesn’t and Oliver leaves, Digg trailing behind him as they make their way through the mansion.

Out of sight of the dining room, Digg falls into step beside him.

“You coming to Gotham?” Oliver asks, knowing that his mother has likely already talked to the bodyguard about it.

Diggle gives him a look, as if to say ‘of course I was invited, do you think your mother would let you go anywhere without me?’. “I think the better question is, are  _ we  _ going to Gotham?” he asks, clearly having the same thoughts as Oliver.

Oliver frowns as they reach the garage, slipping into the backseat as protocol dictates (mostly for appearances’ sake). 

“I think Star City can survive one night without the the Arrow,” Diggle says before he can speak. 

Oliver meets Diggle’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “I know,” he agrees as the car starts. “But the Undertaking -”

“You’ve searched every inch of those subway tunnels, Oliver,” Diggle interrupts. “There’s nothing there.”

Oliver knows that, knows he’s hit another dead end, but he doesn’t quite want to believe it just yet. Lawton’s still out of the country, they’ve gotten nowhere with the subway tunnels, and he’ll only be gone for one night. As long as he heads out to the streets every night between now and Saturday, maybe crosses another name off the List, then Star City will be fine without him. 

It looks like he’s heading to Gotham.

* * *

* * *

_ April 7, 2013, morning: _

When Oliver gets to the airstrip Saturday morning, ten minutes late of course, he’s pleasantly surprised by what he finds. Thea and his mother are already there, and Diggle drove him, but Tommy is also there, chatting politely and fondly with Oliver’s family.

“Tommy!” Oliver says with a grin as he approaches the group, Diggle right beside him. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

Tommy grins easily, though his eyes search Oliver’s, still not entirely comfortable with the secret he holds. “Of course. The Queens and the Merlyns were both invited but my  _ dad _ -” he says the word with scorn and derision “- decided he was too busy to attend. So I thought I’d fly out with you guys.”

“Well of course you’re more than welcome,” Oliver’s mother says warmly, smiling at Tommy.

Suddenly the trip to Gotham seems a bit more enjoyable. Oliver thinks about slinging an arm over Tommy’s shoulder, walking with him to the plane, but he’s not sure they’ve returned to that level of friendship yet. “Shall we?” he asks instead, gesturing for the others to precede him onto the plane. 

Despite the five hours they spend in the air the plane ride to Gotham is relaxing and enjoyable. In the Queen’s private jet Oliver can relax a bit more than normal, especially given that two of the four people there know who he is. (He’d checked the plane beforehand though, went over the maintenance log and added a couple more parachutes. His paranoia never rests.)

The five of them spend time talking, reminiscing over old times - which gives Diggle, hearing the stories for the first time, a good laugh, even if they are all careful to avoid mention of Robert Queen or Walter - but then his mom separates herself from them, pulling out the book she’d brought, and Thea takes her own seat, texting friends from school.

Oliver, Tommy, and Diggle are left alone to talk. At first Tommy is uncomfortable, knowing what he and Diggle are involved in, but Tommy and Digg get along surprisingly well (or perhaps not too surprisingly - Oliver knows Tommy’s the kind of easy-going person who could get along with almost anyone) and the three of them leave the plane that evening perhaps a bit closer than before.

* * *

* * *

_ April 7, 2013, evening: _

“You do realize that you are now officially late for your own party, Master Wayne.”

The British voice that comes through Bruce’s ear is both completely calm and vaguely annoyed in the way only Alfred can be. His words are not a question.

“There was a mugger, Alfred,” Bruce grinds out in response, already on his way back to Wayne Manor, “it’s not like I planned it.” Isn’t like he regrets it either though, if he’s being honest. His is both looking forward to his second annual charity ball and  _ not  _ looking forward to it.

On one hand, Bruce will have to play up the disrespectful playboy, socialize with the top elite and convince them to give up their money. It’s time off the streets and away from what really matters. On the other hand, it gives him another chance to perfect his persona, to sculpt an image of Bruce Wayne as nothing more than one of the elite members of society, and the money all goes to good causes that genuinely help people. It’s wrong of him to say that it doesn’t matter. 

“Of course not, Master Wayne,” Alfred replies flatly, tone indicating he knows exactly how Bruce feels about the event, both the good and the bad.

Bruce allows himself a grin underneath his cowl, alone where no one can see it. Alfred knows him better than anyone else alive. He never could have asked for better support. “How’s Dick doing?” he asks. Ever since his adopted son had discovered the ‘Batcave’ - as he calls it - a few weeks ago he’s been a whirlwind of emotion, begging to help. But Dick is only ten and though Bruce has reluctantly agreed to let him be involved he’s going to make sure the kid is as ready as he can be before he even thinks about letting him out on the streets. Crime fighting is a lot different than acrobatics.

“Eager for you to return,” Alfred responds, and there’s fondness in his tone. He likes the idea of Dick following in Bruce’s footsteps far less than Bruce does, but he understands that Bruce doesn’t want his adopted son to end up like him. Training him himself is the only way to ensure that.

Bruce nods silently in response to the statement and can only picture Dick bouncing around the ‘Batcave’, grin on his face and worry in his eyes. He presses down a little bit harder on the gas.

* * *

It’s late, and party-goers are finally starting to trickle out.

Oliver Queen stands in the corner with his sister, a man Bruce recognizes as Tommy Merlyn - longtime friend of Queen’s and a fellow billionaire’s son - and another he knows to be Queen’s bodyguard, hired after Queen was kidnapped only a few days after returning home. The bodyguard (John Diggle, more than one tour in Afghanistan, ex-special forces) is doing his job, eyes alert, continually scanning the room.

Queen, on the other hand, looks much more relaxed. He’s smiling slightly, talking with his friends and family. The party is nearing its end and Bruce knows for a fact that this is the first moment the three of them have had to themselves. He doesn’t begrudge them for stepping aside and taking a moment, even as he wishes that Queen would make things easy and do something that either proved or disproved him to be Star City’s vigilante. (He’s not so optimistic to think it’ll happen, but for once it would be nice.)

Before this moment, Queen had socialized, flitting through the crowd in a way that Bruce is intimately familiar with. He’d been stiff at times, with fake laughs and smiles that didn’t meet his eyes, but that hadn’t proved anything. If Queen  _ was  _ telling the truth, and he had been alone on a deserted island for five years, then it was to be expected that he would be wary of crowds and have difficulty socializing. Even now, relaxed among familiar people with his bodyguard watching out for him, Queen manages his emotions, offering only small smiles. He doesn’t gesture wildly, like his friend Merlyn, or laugh loudly, throwing his head back like his sister Thea. 

But while Bruce hasn’t seen anything that means he can eliminate Queen as the Green Arrow of Star City, he hasn’t seen anything that proves it either. He’s been watching Queen whenever he can catch an unobtrusive glimpse of him, has talked with his sister and his mother already, and all he can see is a damaged man who has trouble connecting with others. That could be as a result of isolation and harsh living, or it could be from whatever would cause a man like him to turn vigilante. It’s far too early to tell.

* * *

The Wayne party had not been… nearly as bad as Oliver had been expecting. Sure, it’d been loud and bright and crowded, but it was a high society party, not the crazy raves Oliver has thrown or attended in Star City. And while Gotham may be considered by many to be a blight on the east coast (especially given that Metropolis - their shining opposite - isn’t too far away, relatively speaking), they aren’t in Gotham proper, are they?

No, just like the Queen family home, the Wayne mansion is relatively far from the city, isolated on fairly large grounds with no neighbors for several miles. One of the perks of the kind of money they have. So the party is all brightly lit ballrooms and sparkling glasses of champagne and polite talk between rich people who couldn’t care less about each other, instead of the barely lit rooms with open bars and loud pounding music that Oliver has had to once more become accustomed to.

Oliver had managed to control his emotions and reactions enough that he’d only started twice in the unfamiliar environment. The first time when he’d seen two men with concealed weapons before quickly realizing that they were just security for Gotham’s police commissioner, who was also in attendance. The second time had been similarly inconsequential: a young woman he didn’t recognize had had a bit too much to drink, shattering a few glasses as she fell. An older man had escorted her out of the room, and that had been that. Otherwise he’d made the rounds his mother had expected him to and reconnected with people he’d forgotten about during his five years away. 

Keeping with his reputation he’d flirted quite a bit and pretended to drink a bit more alcohol than strictly necessary, but overall he’d toned himself down considerably. They were in Gotham, not Star City.

Still, even if the party wasn’t that bad, there had still been several comments thrown out that had rubbed him the wrong way. Fake condolences for his father’s death that caused him to remember the crack of a gun as Robert Queen had shot himself in the head and the stench of his father’s rotting corpse as he’d buried him on an island named purgatory. Random questions about what it had been like on the island, or how he had survived without going crazy, or what he missed the most, and on and on… Questions that more often than not caused Oliver to stiffen up and change the subject.

Oh he’d tried the first few times to respond glibly, to act like it had been nothing, but that had gotten harder and harder as the night had gone on. Most of the people at the Wayne Mansion had never and would never experience anything even remotely similar to what he had gone through and their curiosity - something they seem to think is harmless - only serves to remind him of that terrible time. It reminds him of all the people back home who wouldn’t stop asking - and still won’t - including McKenna Hall and their disaster of a first date.

He tries not to fault them for their curiosity - the story that he tells people isn’t nearly as traumatic as the real truth, so how would they know? - but by the end of it he just wants to return to Star City, where people have (mostly) learned to stop asking questions. 

So when his mother finally signals that it’s societally appropriate for them to leave, Oliver is relieved but not as desperate to flee as he’d thought he’d be. He and Diggle converge with his mother and Thea, Tommy reappearing from somewhere in the crowd (actually, he’d been talking to one of Merlyn Global’s investors, a man from Hub City - Oliver can’t help but keep track of his friends and family in this unknown environment), and they head for the door.

On their way out a man stumbles in front of them, Tommy easily supporting him before he hits the floor. Oliver instantly recognizes him.

Bruce Wayne chuckles lightly and easily, straightening in front of them. Somehow, he hasn’t spilled a drop of the full champagne glass in his hand (he hasn’t drank any either, Oliver notes idly). “Sorry about that,” he says easily, “guess I need to watch where I’m going.” He grins widely, taking a sip from his glass, before he looks at them in surprise. “Oh, were you leaving? Can I convince you to make a donation to one of the various charities being represented here tonight?”

He’s charming and pleasant and friendly and just feels  _ off _ . Oliver can’t put his finger on it but he thinks that Wayne ran into them on purpose. ( _ It’s just your paranoia speaking,  _ some part of him says to himself,  _ of course he ran into us on purpose - he wants our money. _ )

His mother reacts graciously, in the high society manner that Oliver doesn’t know he’ll ever be able to replicate, and assures Wayne that they’ve already made several donations. Wayne thanks her, shakes her hand, and then finally turns to the rest of them. 

He blinks.

“Oliver Queen?” he asks, startled, like he just noticed him. “I hardly even recognized you.”

Oliver braces himself for a careless comment or question about the island. 

“That hair!” Wayne continues though, running his free hand over his own head. “When did you decide to go for a buzz cut?”

Oh, well then. It seems like Wayne, too, remembers their few chance meetings from before the island. Oliver’s changed since then and it seems like Wayne has too.

He shrugs in response and smiles a bit easier now that he’s pretty sure Wayne won’t be asking any questions he can’t - or won’t - answer. “Seemed easier,” he says lightly.

Wayne laughs in response, then claps Oliver on the shoulder. “Well, don’t let me hold you up, I’m sure you have a long flight back to Star City.” He nods at the rest of the group, then wanders off into the crowd. 

Oliver watches him go, wondering at who Bruce Wayne really is - because that? That had been an act. Oliver’s not one hundred percent convinced, but he’s pretty sure of it and can’t help but wonder, why? As he follows his family out of the mansion, Diggle shifts closer to him.

“I know that look, Oliver,” he says quietly.

Oliver subtly shakes his head. “It’s nothing.”

Diggle studies him for a moment, then shrugs. “Whenever you want to tell me, Oliver.”

“It’s nothing,” Oliver repeats. “Just, I’ve met Wayne. Before. He’s changed.”

Diggle relaxes slightly. He nods. “That does happen.”

Because of the four-hour time difference, they make it back to Star City an hour after they leave Gotham, according to the clock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is sort of mostly a filler chapter, with little going on plotwise. I would like to reiterate though that, even though we see Bruce's POV in this chapter, he will /not/ play a large part in this story. In fact, this chapter is pretty much it for now. 
> 
> We'll return to the actual story in about ten days or so with Chapter 6: Deadshot, on April 14th.
> 
> Thanks so much to everyone reading!


	7. Deadshot

_April 14 - April 16, 2013:_

Oliver plants his feet, catching another punch from Diggle with the boxing equipment he’d picked up. It’s been a week since Gotham and they are still nowhere closer when it comes to catching - or even finding - Lawton.

“You feel better?” he asks as Diggle throws another punch, though he knows it’s a pointless question. Physical exertion can be a catharsis of its own sort, but it can’t solve everything.

“I’ll feel better once we end Deadshot,” Digg snarls, taking a moment to catch his breath before throwing himself back into their sparring. “We have to end this guy before he makes any more widows out of wives.”

Oliver remains silent until Diggle finally exhausts himself, letting his friend get everything out of his system. As Diggle lowers his arms, Oliver backs off and holds up a calming hand. There’s a time and place for the anger within Diggle - the sparring mat is fine, off it is less so. “We will,” he promises, not for the first time, wanting Diggle to know he means it. “Diggle, we’ll stop him. I promised you I’d help take him down, and I keep my promises, but he’s on another continent.”

“Not anymore.”

The two friends and sparring partners turn immediately to Felicity, working at the computers. Apparently, Deadshot is scheduled to meet with a potential client in Star City - a potential client that is actually ARGUS. When Diggle heads off to talk to his ex-wife (and current ARGUS agent), Oliver picks up his bow. He’s been sparring with Diggle the whole week, helping his friend work out his frustration. It’s time to get in some training of his own.

Oliver crosses another man off the List that night with enough darkness left for him after that to patrol for a little while. When he does get back to the manor he falls into bed and sleeps easily.

When morning comes, Oliver steps out of his shower just in time to catch the news mention Laurel, and her current - now murdered - clients. Oliver stiffens, rubs his fingers together, reminds himself that no matter how vigilant he is he can’t be aware of everything, and hurries to get changed.

Tommy and Laurel are still at the station when he arrives, Laurel talking with the dead couple’s young son as Tommy moves toward Oliver.

“What are you doing here?” Tommy asks immediately.

“I heard what happened. I just wanted to make sure Laurel was okay,” Oliver says. She looks fine from what he can tell, and there’d been no mention of any attack on her in the news, but still. He’d had to check.

Tommy looks uncertain and hesitant, as if he’s not sure he wants Oliver there, but before he can decide what to say Laurel approaches with the kid.

“It’s settled,” she says with satisfaction. “Taylor’s coming home with us tonight.”

“Well, if you need anything, give me a call,” Oliver offers.

Laurel smiles warmly but Tommy’s answering nod is a bit strained. “Thanks,” he says, glancing over at his girlfriend. “We really should get going.”

As Laurel takes Taylor’s hand and the three of them walk off Oliver curses himself. He thought that he was starting to get along with Tommy again but now his friend is acting territorial. Oliver can’t deny that he still has feelings for Laurel, can’t deny that he still loves her, but Tommy is his best friend. He’s not going to even consider making a move while they’re still together. (Those days are behind him. And he doesn’t have the time in his life right now for that kind of relationship anyway.)

Back in the basement, Felicity and Digg are hard at work. “What’ve we got?” Oliver asks as he approaches them.

“Lyla’s mission profile on the trap they’ve set for Deadshot,” Felicity tells him.

“Lawton is set to meet his new employer and get his assignment tomorrow at eight p.m.,” Digg continues. “Only, his new employer will be an ARGUS agent. Lyla will then swoop in with her team and arrest him.”

“And we’ll be there to make sure it happens,” Oliver says, meeting Diggle’s gaze.

The bodyguard hesitates, as if he wants to ask Oliver for more than that, but in the end he nods his agreement.

Oliver turns to Felicity. “There is something else we need to look into. Two of Laurel’s clients were murdered last night. Their seven-year-old son barely escaped.”

As she starts researching Edward Rasmus, Oliver changes into his vigilante gear. Whoever Rasmus had hired won’t give up and Taylor is at Laurel’s - which means Oliver is heading there too. If Rasmus had actually found an assassin willing to target kids then Oliver doubts the assassin cares any about collateral damage either.

Luckily he gets there just in time, breaking through Laurel’s window just as the hired assassin aims his gun at her. Landing in a crouch, Oliver quickly fires off an arrow that knocks the gun out of the man’s hand. A firefight ensues, the assassin pulling out a second gun as he runs for the window, but Oliver has come prepared. Ever since he’d stopped killing he’s been working on modifying his arrows and this is just the time to use one of his newest creations.

With careful precision, Oliver fires another arrow. It just barely clips the running target, but it’s enough. With this arrow, he doesn’t need a direct hit. Strong cables wrap around the assassin as he jumps through the window, forcing his arms tightly to his side. Oliver doesn’t bother to look back on Laurel, Tommy, or Taylor, hurrying forward as the thump of the man hitting the fire escape is followed by cursing. Oliver’s glad to see that his modified arrow has worked, and that the assassin had dropped his gun as a result, but he’s not counting his chickens before they hatch.

Leaping through the window and onto the fire escape, Oliver immediately punches the assassin in the face, knocking him unconscious with one blow. He picks up the fallen gun next, pulls the clip free and pockets it, then sets the gun aside. Quickly he searches the assassin for any more hidden weapons, pulling out three knives, a small razor blade, a silencer, and an extra clip.

By the time he’s done, Laurel has approached the window and he carefully keeps his back to her as he stands. He clicks on the voice synthesizer. “Call the police,” he commands without turning.

Laurel starts behind him, probably surprised that he knew she was there, but the movements he can hear indicate she’s following his orders. More footsteps sound, Tommy walking up next to Laurel as she dials.

Oliver studies the scene in front of him: the assassin is unconscious and tied up, his weapons piled on the other side of the fire escape - evidence of his crimes. He fluidly pulls another arrow from his quiver, this time a grappling arrow, and fires at the building across the alley before either Tommy or Laurel can speak. As he flies across the gap between buildings he sees Tommy lean forward through the open window, as if about to say something, but if he does speak it’s not to Oliver.

Perching in the shadows on the building next to Laurel’s, Oliver waits for the police to come. He’s not about to leave his two oldest friends alone with an assassin, even a tied up and unconscious one.

* * *

“Find anything on Rasmus?” Oliver asks when he finally returns to the club’s basement.

Felicity doesn’t turn from her spot at the computer. “Too much,” she says with a grimace, staring at her screens. “Like, I wouldn’t even know where to go to hire an assassin and Rasmus has more than one at his beck and call. Not that I’m looking to hire an assassin…” she quickly clarifies, trailing off before she can go on a tangent and start rambling.

“He doesn’t seem to know that his assassin’s been caught,” Diggle adds.

Oliver shakes his head, setting down his bow and joining them at the computers. “The assassin won’t talk,” he says confidently. “But Rasmus will probably run the moment he hears the news.” He hesitates, then moves back for his bow.

“You’re going now?” Diggle asks, he and Felicity turning to face Oliver.

Oliver picks up the bow. “Would you rather let Rasmus run?” he asks.

Diggle huffs in frustration and Oliver knows he’d only been worrying about the lateness of the hour and Oliver’s recent fight with a highly-trained assassin.

“Rasmus needs to be stopped,” Oliver says in apology, pulling up the hood once more. “Felicity, can you send everything to the police without letting them know where it came from?”

“Do I ask you if you can use a bow?” Felicity asks rhetorically, spinning back to face her computers. “I can make it look like _Rasmus_ sent them the information.”

Oliver grins under the hood; he really should stop underestimating the IT genius.

* * *

Crouched outside Rasmus’ place, scoping out the best line of approach, Oliver is surprised when he hears the comm link switch on.

“What?” he growls out, frustrated that his concentration has been broken. But Felicity and Digg have learned not to bother him, so he knows this is something important.

“Um… Tommy, just sort of, uh… knocked on the door?” Felicity asks more than tells him.

“What?” Oliver repeats in astonishment. Tommy had knocked on what door? The door to the club basement? But why would he be there, at this hour?

“Yeah, Merlyn’s upstairs,” Digg clarifies. “He looks uncertain but he’s not leaving.”

Oliver thinks of when Helena had threatened Tommy, of when Tommy had moved his equipment when Lance had come to the club with a search warrant. Tommy knows how to get to the basement and what’s in there, so if he’s knocking it’s because he wants to speak with Oliver. What the hell, it’s not anything Tommy hasn’t seen before.

“Let him in,” Oliver decides, suddenly narrowing in on his perfect entrance. “I’ll talk to him when I get back.” He mutes the mic before either Felicity or Diggle can reply and hurries from his perch. He’s got a corrupt businessman to take down. He can’t afford any distractions right now.

* * *

Tommy… isn’t really quite sure what he’s doing at Verdant at the moment. He doesn’t really approve of what Oliver’s been doing but seeing him in action… it’s different than what Tommy had expected, somehow. Harder. Harsher. Crueler. And Oliver hadn’t killed the assassin in Laurel’s apartment, hadn’t killed in a long while. Not to mention, he’d deviated from the corrupt businessmen he’d started out with, now going after street criminals and stopping crimes as they happen. Tommy can still remember the sheer relief on the face of a woman who’d run into the club after closing, babbling about how the vigilante had saved her. It’s not a thing one forgets easily.

So he’d knocked on the door, despite knowing that he could just walk in. Now he’s downstairs, standing in awkward silence with Oliver’s bodyguard and some blonde woman he doesn’t recognize. He’d been pretty sure Diggle had been helping Oliver but he hadn’t known about the third partner.

“So, do you guys help Oliver…?” he tries asking. He clearly hadn’t thought this through - of course Oliver was busy at this hour.

“Fight crime and kick criminal ass?” the woman finishes for him with a pleased grin on her face. “Heck yeah we do.”

Diggle looks patiently amused, but Tommy isn’t quite sure how to respond to that. Awkward silence falls again.

“And Oliver is…?” he tries again.

“Going after Edward Rasmus,” Diggle says with patience. “He’s the man who hired the assassin that killed Taylor’s parents and came after you tonight.”

At any other moment Tommy might have been insulted by the simple and reassuring tone Diggle is using on him but right now, confused enough as to why he’s even there, Tommy just feels grateful. He supposes he’s in shock a bit - it’s been an eventful night.

“Right,” he says with a nod, glancing around nervously. Of course, he knows everything that’s in here - he’d moved it all when Detective Lance had gotten a search warrant for the club - but it’s different standing here and taking the time to take everything in, especially knowing that Oliver’s out fighting right now.

“I’m Felicity, by the way,” the woman says with a smile. “I don’t think we’ve met yet.”

Tommy attempts to grin back at her, wondering if it would be weird if he responded in kind. Surely she already knows who he is?

Suddenly, Felicity straightens in her chair and spins back to face the computers as Diggle shifts ever so slightly. The movements are so instantaneous, so spontaneous and in sync, that Tommy knows they must be listening to Oliver.

“Looks like he’s at the station now,” Felicity says after a moment of typing. “I already sent them all the information on Rasmus.”

A pause, then more typing.

“Hold on, they’ve already got SWAT and some other officers on the way,” Felicity evidently replies to whatever Oliver had said. “Looks like the good detective won’t be needed.”

Tommy wonders briefly if they’re talking about Detective Lance.

Felicity nods once, though he doubts Oliver can pick up on that, clicks one final button, then spins back to face him. Beside her, DIggle has relaxed again.

“He’s on his way back,” Felicity says easily, as though it’s just another Monday for her. It probably is.

Tommy nods uncertainly in return and awkward silence falls again. He’s talked with Diggle before, but not about all this… vigilante stuff. He doesn’t know what to say. He’d come to thank Oliver, but these people deserve his thanks too. He’s not too good with the real emotional stuff, because he’s never had to be before. Excluding the time he’d thought his best friend had died, which he’d mostly repressed and denied, Tommy’s first foray into expressing his emotions properly has been rather recent and has always involved one person - Laurel.

“Thank you,” he blurts out, after a long awkward pause. “For helping Oliver.”

Felicity glances over at him but Diggle just nods.

“Oliver may have gotten off to a rocky start, but we’re doing good work here,” he states simply.

Tommy thinks back to the first killings the Arrow had committed, to the people who’d kidnapped him and Oliver all too soon after Oliver’s return. Oliver had come back vastly different, nowhere near the man (boy, really) he’d been. But whether it’s because of his time home, or his crusade, or these people in front of Tommy right now, he’s still changing. Opening up to them again, being empathetic in a way that pre-island Oliver never was.

He nods in agreement to Diggle’s words and this time the silence isn’t so awkward.

* * *

“Tommy.” Oliver has his hood up, grease paint on his face and a bow in his hand. His stance is tall and straight, his limbs strong and form fluid. He looks like nothing that Tommy ever expected from his friend and everything he expects from the vigilante.

“Oliver,” Tommy replies hesitantly. “I… I didn’t mean to intrude.”

Oliver shakes his head, lowering his hood. “You haven’t,” he says simply. He’s watching Tommy closely, like he’s an animal Oliver doesn’t want to scare off by making any sudden moves.

Sadly, Tommy feels as if the metaphor is rather apt. He doesn’t want to be here, doesn’t want to think about how easy it is for his best friend to kill. But Oliver hasn’t been killing and Tommy had just gotten his best friend back after five years without him. He doesn’t want to lose him again.

“I… I wanted to talk.”

In his green leather and dark face paint, Oliver looks like a predator, coiled up and ready to strike. Tommy doesn’t know how he’s missed the fluid way Oliver walks, the sheer control he has over his own body. He’s a criminal and a killer, someone hardened by years of hardship that Tommy knows absolutely nothing about.

But when Oliver smiles softly and his eyes meet Tommy’s - hesitant and hopeful - all he can see is his best friend.

* * *

* * *

_April 17, 2013, evening:_

Oliver perches above the plaza, hood up, bow ready, as he waits for Deadshot to show. Diggle had been pouring over every ounce of information he’d gotten from ARGUS and had told Oliver exactly where to go and what to expect. He knows how important this is for his friend so Oliver easily goes along with the man’s plans. It’s not like they’re bad plans either - Digg knows what he’s doing, even if his emotions are distracting him somewhat.

Peering down below him, Oliver watches Diggle enter the plaza. He has a baseball cap pulled low on his head, opposite from the main entrance as he leans against a wall in the shadows behind Lyla.

“I got you, Digg,” Oliver says lowly.

Diggle doesn’t respond but Oliver knows he’s been heard. He patiently crouches, watching the plaza from his bird’s eye view. He could stay here all day. But he won’t have to.

Shortly after a false alarm (just a college kid wearing a long coat and a fedora pulled down low), Oliver sees Diggle tense, glancing at the upper walkways of the plaza. As a shot sounds, ringing through the plaza, Oliver curses. _He’s above Deadshot_. It seems both Diggle and Lawton had had the same idea for the best position to scope out the plaza, though they’d chosen different floors.

(“We’re blown!” Lyla shouts from the plaza floor. “Take cover!”)

Moving fluidly as the second shot sounds, Oliver quickly switches arrows. He jumps from the balcony, spinning and firing a grappling arrow backward. Instead of using it to pull himself back up he swings with it, landing onto the floor below his previous position. It’s a risky stunt, but Oliver knows what he’s doing.

A third shot sounds, but it goes wide, Lawton looking up in astonishment as Oliver crashes into his hiding place.

As Oliver releases his grappling arrow there’s a brief second of shock on Lawton’s face but the assassin recovers quickly.

“You made me _miss_!” Lawton growls out angrily, moving for Oliver.

There’s no time to pull out another arrow. Oliver ducks under Lawton’s swing, hitting the man in the stomach and then spinning around and kicking him as he falters. Lawton had surged forward in anger and surprise, not thinking of his next move. That will cost him.

Lawton pulls a gun, aiming it at Oliver, but he’s too slow. Guns are not effective weapons in close quarters fighting. It’s Oliver’s turn to attack and he surges forward. An upward swipe of his arm (still holding his bow) doesn’t get Lawton to drop the gun but it’s aiming at the ceiling now and Oliver gets in a punch to the face that sends the assassin reeling backward.

Lawton scrambles upward, about to flee, but Oliver’s already nocked another arrow. He fires at Lawton’s back and, much in the same way he’d taken down the other assassin the previous night, Deadshot falls as cables wrap themselves around his arms and torso. Unlike the other assassin, Lawton doesn’t lose his grip on his gun.

On the floor now, the assassin rolls onto his back. With his arms tightly stuck to his chest, but his hands still together as they hold his gun in front of him, Lawton manages to fire at Oliver. Ducking, but not fast enough, Oliver ignores the white-hot flash of pain as the bullet grazes his right arm. He can only hope that it’s only Lawton’s sniper bullets which are laced with curare.

Moving fast before Lawton can get off another shot, Oliver dives forward and physically pulls the gun from the assassin’s hands, not without effort. Lawton snarls as footsteps echo from behind them and Oliver freezes. It could be Diggle, or it could be ARGUS. Either way, Deadshot’s been giftwrapped. Oliver shifts forward, stunning Lawton with a punch to the head, then quickly stands. Pulling out his second and last grappling arrow, Oliver jumps off the balcony again and flees the scene. He has no desire to encounter ARGUS again in this lifetime. Not in a situation not of his own making, at the very least.

* * *

Oliver doesn’t think he’s been poisoned but he hurries back to Verdant nevertheless. Diggle turns his mic on sometime during the trip back and Oliver (and probably Felicity) can hear him talking with Lyla about Deadshot’s arrest. It’s only when Oliver can see the club in the distance that the comm link goes silent.

“How’d it go?” Felicity asks as Oliver enters the basement. “I mean, I was listening to Digg too, so I know Lawton got arrested by ARGUS - courtesy of the Arrow, and they _really_ avoided mentioning your involvement, so that was weird - but, how’d it go?”

Oliver pulls back his hood. “Two agents were killed -” Deadshot never misses unless he’s interrupted “- but they’ll be the last.”

Felicity’s grin falters at the news, at the knowledge that there are two people who won’t be going home tonight, but then her gaze zeroes in on Oliver’s arm.

“You’ve been shot!” she says in alarm and surprise, partially rising from her chair.

“It’s fine,” Oliver says, glancing down at his wound. “I don’t think the bullets were poisoned this time.”

Felicity stands completely, already comfortable enough with everything in the basement to go immediately for the med kit. “You and I have very different definitions of the word fine,” she says, putting it down next to him.

Oliver unstraps his quiver and pulls off his jacket, watching as Felicity peers at his wound then quickly looks away. She’d helped him when he’d been shot but that doesn’t mean she’s exactly comfortable with the blood and the torn flesh. “Thank you,” he says sincerely, opening the med kit. “But Digg can help me with this.”

“Thank god!” Felicity says in relief, before realizing what that might sound like. She whirls back around to face him. “I mean, not that I don’t want to help you, I do, it’s just… there’s a reason I’m not a doctor and -”

“Felicity.” Oliver cuts her off gently, smiling somewhat fondly. (The pain is minor at best, it is not a distraction.)

Straightening, Felicity nods once. “Right, babbling.” She turns back to her computers, approaching her chair again. “I’m going to see where Diggle is and make sure none of your blood is at the crime scene.”

Oliver thinks about telling her not to worry, that ARGUS already knows who he is, but he’s not sure he’s ready for that conversation just yet. Instead he starts cleaning the wound, wiping off the excess blood and watching as Felicity pulls up Digg’s tracking information on her computers. (Oliver had insisted on a tracker in his boot - Felicity is just pinging Diggle’s phone.) Diggle’s close and Oliver takes a moment to consider how he feels. Last time he’d been slightly dizzy and had had trouble focusing, but he’d ignored it, pushing through the pain until he’d almost fainted. This time, Oliver doesn’t seem to have any of those symptoms.

Wound clean, Oliver studies his arm. It’s not a small graze and it’s going to need stitches. He could do them himself but… he doesn’t have to anymore. Keeping pressure on the wound, Oliver watches as Diggle’s dot on the screen approaches the club. He’s not alone anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone reading this, and another shout out to MidnightSunset35 on FF.net, who's still beta-reading this for me. We're slowly starting to creep away from canon here. 
> 
> Chapter 7: A Death in the Family, will be posted April 24th.


	8. A Death in the Family

_April 24, 2013, night:_

With Deadshot in jail, life in the foundry goes back to their normal as Diggle’s tension and irritation fade away. Oliver resumes crossing people off the List, patrolling the streets at least every few nights. Felicity continues her research into the subway and the Undertaking and continues to find nothing. Together the three of them are working more or less seamlessly.

A week after the fight with Lawton, Oliver is the first one to get to the basement. Diggle’s tension and irritation may have mostly faded away but they’re not gone completely. Quickly changing into better workout clothes, Oliver considers the problem. More than once he’s looked over at Digg and seen the slight regret on his face, the question of ‘what if?’. He knows exactly what it is that Diggle’s questioning, remembers Diggle’s hesitant agreement that they would only show up to make sure ARGUS brought Lawton in.

But Oliver’s done killing. It’s been six months since Superman had given him an ultimatum. Oliver’s made his decision. He’s sticking with it. He can see the effect the Arrow is having on Star City - he might just be going after the symptoms sometimes, but he’s also inspiring people to be better, and do better, and he’s not neglecting the List in the meantime. Crime has dropped and, yeah, that might just be because the criminals are running scared, but Felicity can hack into more networks than just the police. Charitable donations across the board are up in Star City and unemployment has fallen (if ever so slightly) in neighborhoods that were once considered unsafe.

Even some of the rich of Star City are behaving better than before, afraid they’re next on the Arrow’s list. Oliver’s been home for seven months now and the effect is starting to show.

And aside from all that, his relationship with Tommy is the best it’s been since he’s returned home. True, Tommy hasn’t made his way back to the basement, but he smiles at Oliver each time he passes through the club, gives him an encouraging nod when he sees him. Oliver shudders to think what Tommy’s reaction would be if he started killing again - he’s not sure he could take seeing the hatred in his best friend’s eyes a second time.

(Except Oliver knows he could. If he faced a choice like he had last time, if it was between Tommy hating him or something unspeakable happening to his best friend, Oliver would take the hatred every time.)

And then there’s Superman. Despite the fact that he’s working hard to keep from killing, Superman’s original warning still lingers in the back of Oliver’s mind. If he kills, he’ll end up on Superman’s radar again and that’s not a place he wants to be.

At the thought, Oliver lets go of the bar of the salmon ladder and drops to the ground in surprise. Superman. Crap - he’d forgotten all about the superhero in the wake of the subway revelation and his trip to Gotham and the problem of Deadshot. He hasn’t seen the superhero since they’d had their brief lesson on how to fight properly and he hasn’t even mentioned the visit to Felicity and Diggle yet. He’d been meaning to, he remembers, but then he’d seen the glyph on his father’s notebook and all thoughts of the caped hero had been driven from his mind.

Well, there’s no time like the present. Both had said they could make it to the foundry that night so Oliver might as well tell them before he heads out to the streets.

* * *

Oliver spars with Diggle when he arrives, then puts their fight on hold when Felicity enters the foundry. Diggle’s breathing hard and they’re both sweating heavily.

“I have something I need to tell both of you.”

Diggle looks slightly alarmed, Felicity worried, and Oliver reminds himself that in their line of work, perhaps that isn’t the best way to phrase things.

“About a month ago I met with Superman,” he continues, then pauses and gives them some time to process his words.

“Superman?” Felicity asks in shock. She hasn’t even gotten the chance to sit down at her computers yet and she stares over them at Oliver, still standing on the sparring mats. “You mean, the actual _Superman_? The alien, cape, flies at supersonic speeds?”

“He met with you again?” Diggle asks during a pause in Felicity’s shocked questions.

That gets her to be quiet for about a second. “Again?!” she half shrieks. “What do you mean _again?_ Have you been hanging out with Superman and haven’t _told me?!_ ”

Oliver winces slightly. It is not at all what she thinks, whatever that may be. “He’s met with me a couple times,” he admits, not sure how Felicity will take what he’s about to tell her. “The first time, he told me to stop killing.”

Some of the excitement drains from Felicity’s face. “Oh,” she says blankly, still staring at him. “That… actually makes a lot of sense.” She pauses, thinking. “So, you only stopped…”

“To get off Superman’s radar.”

But Diggle speaks up next, throwing a disapproving glance in Oliver’s direction first (though he doesn’t know what he’s done wrong this time). “Oliver’s met with Superman other times too,” he says strongly, “before you came along. Seemed like they were getting along pretty well to me. Superman even asked Oliver to teach him how to fight.”

Realization clicks in Oliver’s brain. Digg had been upset that Oliver hadn’t been giving himself enough credit. He’d been disappointed that Oliver had made it seem like his only interactions with Superman had involved threats for Oliver to stop killing. But Oliver’s only being realistic - his later interactions with Superman don’t change the fact that he’d only stopped killing for one reason. He’s no less of a monster because of his association, however loose, with the superhero.

He speaks up before Diggle or Felicity can say anything more.

“Last month, right before we discovered the glyph, I ran into Superman again. We may have… exchanged a few tips on how to fight properly,” he hesitantly admits.

“So, you’ve been working with Superman?” Felicity asks.

Oliver shakes his head. “It was only the one time. I just thought both of you should know about it.”

He’s given them a lot to think about, but that’s enough of a conversation for Oliver. He steps off the mats, walking toward his uniform - it’s time to hit the streets.

* * *

* * *

_May 2, 2013, night:_

In the foundry a few nights later, Oliver sets down his bow, then moves to Felicity and hands her the laptop he’d obtained going after another member of the List that night.

“Hmm. Let me guess - some bad guy missing his fancy new laptop,” she says, studying it.

“Harold Backman,” Oliver answers. “He’s who Star City’s worst call when they want to launder money in the Caymans.”

“Shouldn’t we turn this over to, I don’t know, the IRS?” she asks, even as she opens the laptop, boots it up, and connects it to her system.

“We will,” Oliver promises. “Just as soon as you return the money to the rightful owners.”

Felicity starts going through the records but frowns when the screen flashes red. “Well, it sounds like a very nice idea. Backman’s files are all protected with an asymmetric encryption algorithm.”

“Really?” Oliver has no idea what that means (and from the look Digg gives him neither does he) but he has a vague idea that it’s not good. Not something he could break, at the very least. “So it’s gonna take a while to break in.”

“Days, at least,” she mutters, already lost in code.

“Better get started then.”

* * *

* * *

_May 4, 2013, evening:_

The news comes a few days later, when it’s just Oliver and Felicity in the club. It’s still early and Tommy isn’t in yet so Oliver is alone upstairs going through the bar’s inventory. The quiet and stillness of Verdant before its opening is calming and Oliver wouldn’t say he’s in a good mood exactly, but he’s oddly content. He’d never thought he’d reach such a point in his life, not since he surged up from the darkness of the ocean and swam for a life raft that would soon hold only him.

But he has friends in Felicity and Diggle, Tommy knows his secret and hasn’t left him, and Oliver is actually _enjoying_ his activities as a vigilante. His father’s mission, as always, hums deep within him, a constant push to remind him why he came back and what he needs to do with the life that he’s somehow managed to keep against all odds. His need to discover the truth about the Undertaking is strong, and never forgotten. And Oliver can never let go of the person he’s become, of all the terrible things he’s done or been party to.

Still. Oliver and Felicity and Diggle are slowly and methodically checking people off the List. They know more about the Undertaking than Oliver would ever have discovered alone. Star City calls him a hero.

Oliver checks a few more items off his clipboard, then crouches down behind the bar to sift through the bottles tucked underneath. Outside he can hear the cars driving by in the distance, a siren temporarily moving through his range of hearing before fading out again - but these sounds are faint and distant. Verdant hums quietly, electricity thrumming through its walls and into the appliances around Oliver, the kind of background noise that most people forget they’re even hearing.

Felicity is downstairs, hard at work on Backman’s laptop as she has been the past few days. She’s taken his encryption as a personal challenge, spending quite a bit of time in the foundry. Oliver doesn’t need to concentrate to imagine the sound of her furious typing or the look of concentration that’s no doubt on her face.

He stands, checks a few more items off the clipboard. Looks like there’s a few things he needs to grab before Verdant opens for the night. Oliver makes his way to the storeroom. Tommy had been right - that Verdant had been nothing more than a cover to Oliver. But with their renewed attempt at friendship, Oliver’s honestly been trying. He wants Tommy to think of him as more than the killer he is. So when he’s not working out or practicing his archery or on the streets, hooded up and taking down street criminals and the rich corrupt alike, Oliver makes a point to spend time above ground in Verdant, actually working at the club he owns.

In the storeroom, Oliver grabs an empty box, starts filling it with what he needs, and thinks again about how he’s gotten to where he is today. Star City calls him a hero. It’s not a title he feels he deserves but, for the first time, it’s a title he wants to live up to. He’ll never be able to, he knows, never be able to erase his past, or the fact that he started off killing days after he got back to Star City, but he also knows he’ll never stop trying.

As he walks back to the bar, Oliver remembers again the disgust when Diggle had first discovered his secret and the pride when Oliver announced his intent to stop killing (at that point it had been to stay off Superman’s radar only, but the point still stands). He remembers Felicity’s reluctance to join up, her hesitance in the beginning each time he’d left the foundry with his hood up and her enthusiasm now as they stop good people from getting hurt.

He remembers the fear on Tommy’s face. He remembers his best friend honestly believing that Oliver could hurt him, and his approval now each time he knows Oliver has returned for the night without killing anyone.

The bottles clink loudly in the silence of Verdant as Oliver puts them away, but it’s still a comforting noise. He’d never thought he’d adjust to a large city again, not without always looking over his shoulder the way he had in Hong Kong, but he has. Certain foods still don’t taste right, he has trouble sleeping most nights and sometimes goes without. Sometimes he wakes up and forgets he’s made it back to Star City. Sometimes he looks at Thea and has to remind himself that this is his sister, five years older. He’s still hypervigilant, perpetually unable to let his guard down or drop his focus on his surroundings, and he knows he has trouble connecting with people. He refuses to talk about what happened to him while he was gone. But despite all this, and more, he’s in a far better place than he’d ever thought he’d be again.

Suddenly the door in the back bursts open and Felicity comes storming out. “Oliver, I need to show you what I found!” she proclaims loudly. There’s pride in her words, excitement, and something else Oliver can’t place. He knows instantly that she’s decrypted Backman’s laptop.

Mindful of the cameras in Verdant - never mind that Felicity has access to the footage - Oliver remains silent until they pass through the basement door.

“Tell me you got in,” he says as the door shuts behind them.

“Better,” she declares proudly. “I hacked Cayman Fidelity and put together a list of all the deposits Backman made last year.”

Oliver frowns. That… had not been what he’d expecting. “Felicity, what good does that do us if we don’t know whose money it was?” he asks as they reach her computers.

She hands him a printout. “Look at the biggest deposit Backman made last year. Bottom page.”

Oliver sighs but decides to humor her. “Two million dollars on Decem-” he freezes, mind rapidly processing the information on the page before him. “December twelfth. That’s the day Walter disappeared.”

This is the something Oliver couldn’t place in Felicity’s voice. Finally, finally, a lead.

* * *

Unfortunately, by the time night falls and Diggle arrives, Oliver still doesn’t have an idea on how to pursue his lead. Felicity connects a name to the deposit - Dominic Alonzo - but he runs the biggest underground casino in Star City and that’s where the information Oliver needs will be. He can’t walk in as himself, but the casino has its own private army so that makes approaching it as the Arrow equally as difficult. He’s scoped it out before, making plans for taking Alonzo down, but none of those plans ever accounted for him needing information from the man first - it will be hard to get access to Alonzo’s computer without setting off any alarms and Oliver wants to keep this quiet.

“What have we got?” Digg asks as he hurries down the stairs. It’s clear that he’d caught on to the excitement and urgency of Felicity’s call to him. As the door swings shut behind Digg the pounding of the music from Verdant, now open for the night, temporarily gets louder, then fades again.

“Walter,” Felicity says in excitement, spinning to face Diggle. “Well, maybe.”

“Backman had information about a two-million-dollar deposit on December twelfth,” Oliver interrupts before Felicity can start babbling. “Felicity linked it to a name: Dominic Alonzo.”

Diggle nods, absorbing the information. “And he is?”

“Alonzo runs the biggest underground casino in Star City when he’s not busy kidnapping,” Oliver continues. “I’ve scoped out the place before.” He gestures to the schematics of the building Felicity’s managed to find and Diggle moves closer, the three of them studying the computer screen.

With Diggle there, they start planning. Oliver speaks on what he remembers of entrances (windows, doors - anything he could fit through) and the private security that will be guarding them.

The few windows there are are immediately discounted - breaking through them from any of the surrounding buildings is impractical and too noticeable, and all the rooms with windows are almost never empty. The consider breaking in during the day, when the casino isn’t in business, but the building is still full of armed enforcers at that time, counting their money from the night before. The back door leads straight to the extra security forces, lounging around when they’re not on duty. The element of surprise goes a long way, but the casino practically has its own private army. Oliver just wants to get in and out again without anyone realizing it. Unfortunately it seems as if the easiest way into the building is through the front door.

If they had more time to plan… but it’s been too long already, almost six months since Walter’s kidnapping. Oliver won’t wait longer than he has to.

“Those guys would make me the minute that I walked in there,” Oliver says, frustrated. “Oliver Queen would never be caught dead in a place like that.”

Diggle throws him a look at the use of the third person, which never sits well with him. “Not even irresponsible playboy Oliver Queen?”

Oliver levels an unimpressed stare at Diggle, who chuckles slightly, if without much humor.

“I could do it,” Felicity offers suddenly, voice indicating that she is just as surprised by her offer as they are.

“No -”

Felicity cuts him off before he can say any more. “I can count cards. It’s all probability theory and mathematics. Have you met me? Bottom line - I know my way around a casino.”

She’s babbling, nervous about what she’s volunteering for. At his side, Diggle looks hesitant, as if actually considering it.

“Felicity, I’m not letting you walk into -” he tries again.

“The reason I joined you in the first place was to find Walter and for the first time we have a real chance of finding him.” A pause. “You have to let me do this.”

Oliver knows she’s right, knows she’s the one who would be best to infiltrate the casino, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it. “Diggle…” he says hesitantly, turning to his other teammate.

Digg shrugs helplessly. He looks like he wants to argue but knows that he shouldn’t. “Sorry man,” he ends up saying. “Gambling's not my thing.”

Oliver turns back to Felicity. He removes her personality from the equation, her lack of experience, tries to forget about the woman he’s come to know, and thinks about the situation logically. This is their best option. For Walter.

“All right,” he concedes, “but we do it my way.”

At a nod from Felicity, they start planning.

* * *

It doesn’t go off without a hitch - Oliver has to fight through the casino as the Arrow, thereby eliminating any subtly - but they get the information they’re looking for. Walter is dead. Alonzo had heard the gunshot himself.

Felicity is devastated, Diggle shocked. Oliver lets them go home. Him? He’s disbelieving. He’s not an optimist by any definition and he’s long since accepted that Walter might have died months ago, but the words Alonzo had used… Alonzo had only been the kidnapper, he’d only heard a shot from another room. And Walter’s not truly dead until Oliver sees his body.

His mom is involved in this somehow, he remembers. She’s always held out hope that Walter is alive. At least, Oliver had managed to convince himself that what she felt was hope. For the first time he lets himself consider her actions for what they might actually be instead: certainty.

He goes home himself and tells his family Walter is dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I missed my own self-imposed deadline again... Sorry about that to the people still reading this! Next chapter, Chapter 8: Time for a Plan, is almost done and should be up on May 5th. 
> 
> I hope.
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me.


	9. Time for a Plan

_ May 5, 2013, almost midnight: _

Felicity walks into the foundry to find it shut down, lights off - but that doesn’t necessarily mean that the place is empty. When she flips the switch it doesn’t take her long to spot Oliver. He’s sitting on the floor against a column, knees to his chest, staring blankly off into the distance. She can’t blame him. 

“I’ve been sitting in the dark all day too,” she admits morosely, though in her case it's more figurative than literal - her apartment has windows, at least. It’s a good thing it’s a weekend. She wouldn’t have been able to stomach going to work. (Tomorrow is Monday. Felicity has already requested the day off.) “All those months I kept thinking if I could find a clue, I could get a lead on him.” She sighs and looks away from Oliver and towards the computers she has started to think of as hers. “Guess it wouldn’t have mattered. I can’t imagine what your family is going through.”

“Walter’s alive,” Oliver says suddenly, still not looking at her. His voice is hoarse and his tone defeated, but Felicity’s mind stutters at the words alone. 

“What? But Alonzo said -”

“I need you to pull up Malcolm Merlyn’s phone records,” Oliver says, cutting her off as he stands. “He made a call from his office to wherever Walter is being kept at ten thirty p.m.”

Felicity doesn’t understand. Walter is dead - what does Malcolm Merlyn have to do with it? She says as much. “Malcolm Merlyn? Tommy’s father? Why would he kidnap Walter?”

Oliver finally glances over at her and his look is pleading, begging her not to ask questions. “Felicity.” Sometimes, the way her name sounds on his lips says so much. 

She moves to the computer and pulls up the records. “He made a call to a tenement complex located on the outskirts of Gateway City,” she tells him shortly.

Oliver makes his way towards her. He’s stiff, without the usual grace he exhibits every time he moves - not that she’s been studying his movements because - . Okay, she may have stared a few times. 

“Can you pull up a satellite view?”

Felicity forces herself to focus. Right. Walter. Possibly still alive, though she doesn’t see how. Oliver’s movements and mood can wait. She hacks into an ARGUS thermal imaging satellite and pulls up video of the apartment. “That’s a lot of security for low-income housing,” she notices right away. She doesn’t need to have spent the last couple of months with Oliver and Digg to see that. “There’s two guards stationed at all access points.” ( _ Access points _ , however, is very distinctly Oliver-and-Digg terminology. They’re rubbing off on her.)

“There’s just one on the roof,” Oliver points out. His entire being is focused on the screen.

“Exactly. There’s no other buildings in that area,” she says. He can’t do his usual zip line trick. “If you want to get onto the roof, you’re going to have to jump off of something.”

“I’ve got something,” he growls out. However he’s got this information - or maybe just the information itself - has not made him happy.

“Should I call Digg?” Felicity asks worriedly as he walks away.

“There’s no time,” he shoots back without turning around. His voice is all growly, like it is when he’s going after perps, and Felicity’s not about to stand in his path. Before she knows it he’s gone and she’s left alone in the lair. She calls Diggle anyway.

* * *

* * *

_ May 6, 2013, early morning: _

Many hours later, at five in the morning, Oliver walks into the foundry to find both Felicity and Diggle there, waiting for him. He hadn’t expected that and he pauses at the sight of them. Felicity looks like she’s nodded off in front of her computers and Oliver can recognize the Star General Hospital Logo on one of the screens. Diggle is seated off to the side, quietly cleaning one of his guns in the dim lighting.

As he moves forward, Digg looks up, halting his own movements.

“How’d it go?” he asks quietly, studying Oliver’s face.

Oliver grimaces. It had gone fine and Walter is on his way to Star City now, likely being transferred from Gateway City’s own hospital, but that isn’t the problem. The problem is that he can’t forget how he’d found Walter’s location and who had led him to it. His mother and Tommy’s father, the architects of the Undertaking, working together to bring down the Glades. Even after all he’s seen and done, he never could have imagined it - never would have let himself imagine it.

“Fine,” he says shortly, putting down his bow and unstrapping his quiver.

Diggle raises an eyebrow at his tone but he doesn’t speak as Felicity blinks herself awake, turning her chair to face him. 

“Walter?” she asks hopefully.

Oliver softens slightly, though he hasn’t forgotten that now that Walter’s safe Felicity has no reason to stay. “He’s being transferred to Star General,” he says. “He’s fine.”

Felicity’s expression is sheer relief as she stands and smooths down her clothes. “I… I need to change,” she starts to babble, still shaking herself awake. “I took the day off, mostly because I thought Walter was dead, but he’s not - dead I mean, so…” She straightens, calming herself, and looks Oliver in the eye. “I’m going to visit him,” she says. “Once he’s officially transferred, of course…” She shakes her head, stopping herself again.

It’s no wonder that she’s frazzled. In the space of forty-eight hours, she’d thought Walter was dead, had come to terms with that, and then discovered that he wasn’t. It was a lot to take in, even if it feels like nothing compared to the revelations Oliver’s been hit with. 

She hurries forward toward the stairs, stopping as she reaches Oliver. With a quiet surety, she reaches forward and briefly holds his hand in her own. “Thank you,” she says softly and firmly all at once, locking eyes with him. Then she’s gone, pulling her hand from his and disappearing up the stairs. 

Oliver watches her go, gaze lingering even after she’s gone. He clenches the hand she held into a fist, wondering again at the kindness she continues to show him that he knows he doesn’t deserve, then turns to Digg.

His friend’s eyes are far too understanding, far too sympathetic for Oliver to stomach. “You should be with your family, man,” Digg says gently.

Oliver nods once, then moves toward the restroom to change. “There’s something I need to tell you,” he admits. “After… Tonight?” It comes out sounding more like a question than he would have hoped for. 

“Of course,” Diggle easily responds. No doubt he and Felicity had brainstormed as to where Oliver had gotten his information and even if he doesn’t know about Moira Queen’s involvement, he knows about Malcolm Merlyn. His best friend’s father had kidnapped his stepfather to get his mother to go along with his plans. Oliver had never expected that returning to Star City would be so complicated.

* * *

Oliver hangs around his family that day, half guarding them, half reveling in the joy that they’re all feeling. Walter has to stay at the hospital a while longer - he’s not seriously hurt, just malnourished and dehydrated and likely suffering from the effects of the isolation - so the Queens stay with him.

Still, it’s difficult to be around them. Every time he looks at his mother he hears her voice, begging for Malcolm to confirm that Walter is still alive. Every time he looks at Walter he sees the man curled up in the cot in his cell and flashes back to his own experiences - to digging a bullet out of his gut on the  _ Amazo _ , to the underground cells on Lian Yu, to curling up despondently at the Yamashiro’s, knowing that there was nowhere he could go and nothing he could do to fight back. They’re not pleasant memories and he wonders how Walter will handle his own kidnapping.

Being around Thea is the easiest. Her joy at having Walter back is infectious and Oliver realizes she’d accepted him into their family far more than he’d known. It makes sense - she’d been twelve when she’d lost their father and Walter has been there for her for the last few years - but it’s still something of a surprise to Oliver.

So Oliver sits with his sister, talks with her about simple, stupid things when they’re not with Walter. She talks about working at CNRI with Laurel, he talks about working at Verdant with Tommy. Enough time has passed since Roy’s kidnapping that Oliver feels comfortable teasing her about him, being a big brother and threatening anyone who hurts his little sister. Thea laughs, her first real laugh in ages, and elbows him harshly. He smiles in response and jostles her back. It feels good to reconnect, despite dealing with Moira’s betrayal and Walter’s kidnapping, and Oliver realizes, not for the first time, that he might be spending too much time at the foundry.

Finally, visiting hours for the day end. Moira and Thea head home, Oliver excusing himself by saying he has to head to the club first - which is not entirely untrue. He lingers back as they walk off together, comes to a decision, then ducks into Walter’s room when the nurse isn’t looking.

“Oliver,” Walter says in surprise, raising an eyebrow. “Did you forget something?”

Oliver hesitates. Talking about the island is… not something he does. But he’s not talking about the island, not really. “I wanted to talk to you. Alone.” He’s stalling for time, trying to come up with the words to say what he wants to say. Walter waits patiently, remarkably put together after his ordeal (but Oliver knows how well people can fake that).

“I can’t pretend to know what you went through,” Oliver decides on saying, though he’s got a pretty good idea. “But… I know a little bit about, uh, about being isolated from everyone you love.” He can’t meet Walter’s gaze as he says it - it’s the most he’s admitted about the island to anybody but Diggle and Felicity and it’s barely anything at all, but still. “If you ever, if you ever need someone to talk to…”

Walter actually looks touched and Oliver pointedly chooses to ignore the choked town he uses when he speaks. “Thank-” Walter coughs, clearing his throat and looking embarrassed. “Thank you, Oliver.” His words are sincere and accepting, slightly grateful even.

Oliver nods once, then meets Walter’s gaze. “I’m glad you’re home,” he says honestly.

* * *

After such an emotional talk, after fending off Malcolm when he’d tried to visit Walter and dealing with his mother all day, Oliver needs some time to himself before he goes to the foundry to fill Diggle in. He heads for his secondary base of operations instead of Verdant, the back-up he’d set up just in case and has ended up using it more as a hideaway from his life. Nobody else knows its location and here Oliver doesn’t need to put on pretenses, or worry about someone asking what life was like for him on the island. 

The secondary facility is underground and comforting to Oliver’s sense. There are only two ways in and out, one of them remarkably well hidden. The area smells of dirt and must, not quite the outdoors but better than most artificial environments, and the thick concrete walls mute most of the sounds of the city. Taking a deep breath, Oliver centers himself and picks up the spare bow he keeps there. For the next hour he does nothing but fire arrow after arrow into the targets laid out before him. It’s calming and methodical and easy and doesn’t require him to think about anything. But he can’t do it forever.

Oliver slips into Verdant’s basement just after ten-thirty and steels himself for the talk that he’s about to have. It’s time to tell Diggle the truth - they’re going to have to go after his mother.

* * *

“What’s up?” Diggle looks apprehensive, as though he knows that he might not like what they have to talk about either.

“You were right,” Oliver says plainly. “And I was wrong.” He tries to let no emotion into his words. (He mostly succeeds.)

“About what?” Diggle asks. 

“About everything,” Oliver says, more and more of his anger slipping out the more he says, despite his attempts to hold back his emotions. “About my mother and her involvement in the Undertaking. She lied to me.” He thinks of spending the day with his sister, about how relieved she was to have Walter back. “To Thea. She’s working with Malcolm Merlyn. They’re planning something, something terrible. I don’t know what yet, but I do know one thing - we’re going to stop them.”

Diggle looks shocked but determined. “Don’t you think Felicity should hear this too?”

Oliver shakes his head. “Walter’s safe now, she doesn’t need to be involved any further.”

Diggle takes a step forward. “Look, I know that’s what she said at the beginning Oliver, but don’t you think she’s changed her mind by now?”

Oliver gives him a look. “She’s made it pretty clear how she feels about my methods.”

“Yeah, three  _ months  _ ago.”

Oliver knows that Diggle might be right, has seen the changes in Felicity as she’d helped his cause, but he’s not setting himself up for another disappointment. Not today. Felicity had said that she would stay until Walter had been rescued and he has been now - her involvement with them is over.

Before he can formulate a response though the door above the stairs clicks open. Both Oliver and Diggle immediately straighten, tensing as they turn towards it.

“Sorry I’m late,” Felicity says as she comes down the stairs, oblivious to the tension in the room. “Is Oliver -” she pauses, noticing them as she reaches the bottom of the stairs. “Oh, you haven’t gone out yet.”

Oliver frowns. “Why are you here?”

Felicity cocks her head slightly, frowning in return. “Where else would I be?” she asks, moving toward the computers and setting down her purse. 

Diggle looks over at Oliver as if to say ‘See? Told you so.’

“Walter’s safe,” Oliver says.

Felicity’s smart. She knows instantly what he’s saying. She spins in her chair, turning to face him. “Look, I know I said I’d only help to find Walter, but… I didn’t actually know anything about what you were doing. I didn’t realize how much I could help people by helping out. I…” She pauses, swallows, and stares straight into his eyes. “I wouldn’t give this up for the world.”

Oliver doesn’t know what to say to that. She’d learned that he’d only stopped killing because of Superman, and she’s stuck with him anyway. He doesn’t deserve that kind of loyalty, nevermind that Felicity’s doing it for the people they help, not him.

Beside him, Diggle shifts, stepping toward him. “That goes for both of us,” he says. “You’re not alone Oliver, and we’re not going anywhere.”

Though he still doesn’t have the words to respond, Oliver nods, beyond grateful. He’d never expected such friends, had resigned himself to never truly trusting anyone again after Slade - his mentor, his friend - had chained him up and tortured him. But now he has them, and they will stop the Undertaking, whatever his mother’s involvement.

* * *

* * *

_ May 10, 2013, night: _

Oliver had discovered his mother’s secret on Sunday, rescued Walter in the early hours of Monday morning, and started planning with Felicity and Diggle late Monday night. By Friday, they still have no new leads. 

“I have to ask her,” Oliver decides that night, standing as if he’s going to go to the mansion then and there. 

“Well, no.” Felicity quickly rejects his half-formed idea. “The last time the Vigilante paid your mom a visit, you got and I got to play doctor with you.” She freezes, groaning and running a hand through her hair. “Ahh! My brain thinks of the worst way to say things!”

“This time, it’ll just be me asking,” Oliver promises, more and more convinced that this is the only option the more he thinks about it, “a friendly mother-son chat.” Besides, he’s not planning on going as the Arrow, and even if he was, he knows where all the weapons are hidden in the mansion.

He moves to leave, but Diggle is the one who stops him this time, stepping in front of him and holding up a hand. 

“Oliver, wait. Do you actually think she’ll tell you?” he asks, tone skeptical.

In all honesty, no, Oliver doesn’t. But nothing else seems to be working. He studies his partner’s expression and sees the idea forming in Diggle’s eyes. “What did you have in mind?”

* * *

Oliver had insisted that Diggle actually hit him with a milder form of the tranquilizer he’d used to subdue Moira, in order to handle the symptoms that Oliver can’t completely fake, but he is still completely aware of himself as he watches his mom blink herself awake. They are both bound to metal chairs in an old, abandoned warehouse, wrists and ankles strapped down. Oliver can get out of his (though not without injuring himself in the process) but he isn’t sure if Diggle knows that. He’d told the man to make the kidnapping realistic after all. It’s the only way to be sure his mother will talk. 

(He hopes. His heart aches and his gut shifts uncomfortably at the idea what they have planned. Because what if it doesn’t work? What if his mother won’t talk even to save her son? Oliver doesn’t honestly believe Moria is that far gone, but… He can’t help but consider the possibility, swallowing uneasily.)

“Mom!” Oliver calls out as she seems to become somewhat aware of her surroundings. He keeps his voice groggy and uncertain.

“Oliver,” she half-slurs in response. Oliver feels a small twinge of guilt that he pushes aside. He needs to know what his mother is involved in, not only to right his father’s wrongs, but to save lives. Besides, what’s one more sin on his conscience?

“Are you okay?” 

She leans forward, finally realizing she’s bound. “Oliver?” she says, starting to panic as she becomes more fully aware of where there are compared to where they had been. “How… how are… we have to get out of here.”

That is when Diggle makes his appearance. Keeping to the shadows, head turned away from them, Diggle flips on the heavy work lights that make it difficult to see him clearly. Still, it’s obvious who has them prisoner from the hood and the quiver.

“Moira Queen - you have failed this city,” the Arrow declares, loud and harsh and unforgiving through the voice synthesizer.

Oliver quashes any further feelings of guilt as he sees his mother tremble at the tone. It’s time for them to learn the truth.

* * *

What his mother admits to them that night is so much worse than anything Oliver could have predicted, even after everything he’s seen. Malcolm Merlyn plans to level the Glades with a manmade earthquake, triggered by a device created by Unidac Industries - the same Unidac Industries whose employees were just slaughtered by the Dark Archer. Which means that the other archer is working for Malcolm and that Malcolm already has the device. All he needs to do is activate it. Which means that it could happen at literally any time. 

But Moria doesn’t know any more than that and, under the pressure of an unknown deadline, Oliver, Diggle, and Felicity know they need to act fast. And since Malcolm is the other conspirator in this instance, the best way to get information is straight from the source. Which leads Oliver to Tommy…

* * *

* * *

_ May 11, 2013, evening: _

“You want to what?” Tommy asks, glancing between the three of them in astonishment from where they stand on Verdant’s empty dance floor.

“We just need to get into the Merlyn Global mainframe,” Oliver tries to reassure him. “Just a quick in and out. No one will get hurt.”

“No, I heard that,” Tommy says. “Just, what does my dad’s company have to do with anything you do? You’re not targeting him next, are you?” Despite his words, he doesn’t seem to honestly expect Oliver to answer yes. The truth though, is so much more complicated than that.

Oliver, Diggle, and Felicity exchange glances. They’re all equally torn between protecting Tommy from the truth and not wanting to lie to him. Oliver thinks of how much still stands between them, and of how they’ve only grown closer with each of his secrets that have been revealed. That won’t be true of all his secrets, some of which he’s certain he’ll never share, but does it apply to this one.

“I could lie to you,” he says slowly, cautiously, watching Tommy closely, “or I could tell you a truth you won’t like and probably won’t believe.”

Silence falls, whatever good mood Tommy had had quickly fading as his gaze flickers back and forth, studying each of their faces in turn. “This is… this is serious, isn’t it?”

“Deadly,” Diggle answers solemnly.

Tommy nods once, looking ill, as though his worst suspicions have been confirmed, and Oliver can only imagine the scenarios running through his head. Even since Malcolm had left him as a kid Tommy has known that the man isn’t a good father and is far from a perfect man - but Oliver doubts that even Tommy’s worst suspicions include mass murder. It’s a difficult thing, to believe that your parent could be capable of such destruction. Oliver would know.

Turning to Oliver, Tommy meets his gaze. His expression is unusually serious, his tone grave. “I know… I know I said I didn’t want to get involved, didn’t want to know what you were doing, but if it uh, if it involves my father… I want to know the truth.”

Oliver nods but Felicity steps forward before he can speak, stopping him from spilling the truth right then and there. 

“You might want to be sitting down for this,” she says kindly.

Only when they’re all in the basement, Tommy in Felicity’s chair, Diggle leaning against the table behind and to the side of Oliver while Felicity sits next to him on the stool, does Oliver speak and tell Tommy the truth. He tells them how their fathers were involved in trying to save the Glades, and how they’d decided that whatever they’d been doing wasn’t enough. 

Oliver meets Tommy’s uncertain gaze, holding nothing back. “They decided that, in order to save the Glades, they’d have to destroy them first - burn the whole area down to the ground and build it back up.”

Tommy shakes his head, not so much in disbelief but more in denial. He stands, turning away from the three of them, and Oliver knows it’s only so that they won’t see the broken expression on his face. He continues his story.

“I think my dad decided he couldn’t follow through. I don’t know where the Gambit was going but… before -” he pauses himself, clearing his throat and ignoring the memories that threaten to overwhelm him. “Before he died my dad told me that he wasn’t the man I thought he was, that he had failed the city. He told me to right his wrongs.”

Tommy turns back to him at that, eyes a bit watery but expression firm. “That’s… that’s what you’ve been doing?” he asks, voice shaky.

Oliver nods, carefully watching his best friend. “He gave me a book, a list of people.”

Silence falls, Tommy absorbing the information, and after giving him a moment to process things, Oliver continues. 

“I think after that, my mom started helping your dad. He had Walter kidnapped to ensure she wouldn’t back out after my return.”

“And because Walter started looking into things,” Felicity adds from behind Oliver.

Tommy glances her way briefly, then turns back to Oliver. “So…” he pauses, swallows, “so your mom, and my dad, are trying to destroy the Glades?”

It’s a question and not all at once. Tommy understands what they’ve said to him, but he doesn’t want it to be true, doesn’t want to face the facts.

Oliver nods silently. “The difference between us, Tommy,” he says after a moment, “is that I didn’t find out the truth about my father until it was too late. But you’ve always known, deep down, you have always known the man he is.” It’s something neither of them have ever really admitted, but they both know now that Tommy had lost his mother and his father on the same night. 

A moment passes, a beat of silence, a tense pause. Felicity shifts anxiously next to Diggle, Oliver watches his friend. Tommy clenches his fists, his jaw. His unfocused gaze flickers back and forth, thinking, remembering, trying to process what he’s been told.

“You were wrong,” Tommy said eventually, voice breaking as he speaks. He shakes his head and looks like he’s not just upset with Malcolm, but also with himself for not seeing it earlier. “You were wrong Oliver,” he repeats, voice strengthening even as his eyes glisten with unshed tears. “That’s the worst part. I do believe you.” He lets out a sob and spins away again, stifling any further cries. 

Diggle and Felicity exchange glances, as if considering leaving the two of them alone, but Tommy straightens before they can move, turning back and wiping at his eyes.

“What do you need me to do?” he asks, meeting Oliver’s gaze head on.

Oliver glances over at Felicity.

“We need to plug in to Merlyn Global’s mainframe,” she answers for him.

Tommy sniffles, wipes his eyes again, and nods. “Alright. How do we do that?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for everyone keeping up with this story! Chapter 9: Shake the Earth, should be out May 12th. We're nearing the end here! (At least of this fic).


	10. Shake the Earth

_ May 12, 2013, afternoon: _

Breaking into Merlyn Global is surprisingly easy - so easy, in fact, that all four of them manage to get in together. They enter on a Sunday, when there’s barely anyone in the building, and Tommy gives some easy excuse about needing to get something from his dad’s office. In truth, the excuse he uses doesn’t even matter, because Tommy has access to the whole building even if he can no longer access his trust. Oliver tags along as Tommy’s friend and Felicity smiles vacantly at the security guard as she hovers by Oliver’s side. 

Diggle already has a job in the security office (that part had been easy to hack into, Felicity had said with a triumphant grin), ready to loop the tapes for them with the program Felicity had given him. Given that it’s Sunday - and after a little manipulation of the shift schedules - he’s the only one in the room.

“I can’t believe that actually worked,” Felicity says in disbelief as they leave the guard at the front desk behind and step into the empty elevator.

Tommy shrugs. “Perks of being rich,” he says, but his tone is dark instead of the playful tone he usually uses when he says stuff like that. 

Oliver spares him a glance, studying him subtly. Tommy has not taken the news of the Undertaking well and even after only one day Oliver can see the bags under his friend’s eyes. Unlike him, Tommy is not used to stressful situations after little sleep.

_ “You guys are good to go.” _

Diggle’s voice comes through the comms just as the elevator approaches the fourteenth floor and Tommy jumps slightly at the sudden sound. Oliver is going to have to keep an eye on him. 

“No problems?” he asks Digg, readying himself for anything. They need Tommy to get in and Felicity to do the hacking - Oliver’s there in case anything goes wrong. 

_ “None,”  _ Digg confirms easily. The elevator slows to a halt on the twenty-fifth floor, doors opening onto a silent hallway. 

Oliver’s steps are silent as he trails behind Tommy and Felicity. As Tommy swipes his keycard (Felicity’s program will wipe all records of that too) Oliver keeps his head on a swivel, ever aware of his surroundings. The office building and lack of a hood remind him of ARGUS, and the time they’d had him break into Queen Consolidated. He longs for his bow and rubs his fingers together as Tommy and Felicity disappear inside the server room.

He doesn’t need his bow, he knows, but it’s more of a comfort thing despite the circumstances that led him to learn archery. Hearing more focused than usual, Oliver listens to Felicity’s typing, waiting for the sound of footsteps or a warning from Diggle. The security patrol extends its usual ten-minute cycle to closer to fifteen on the weekend, not by rule but simply through complacency. Merlyn Global has never been hacked before and people get lazy when they settle into a routine. They’ve got fourteen minutes before the guard comes around again, give or take. Oliver waits, tense and ready for anything. 

They get out with the data eleven minutes later, slipping into the elevator with the security guard’s footsteps still only a distant sound that Oliver’s pretty sure only he can hear. They stop by Malcolm’s office on the way down, Tommy grabbing something off his desk to shove in his pocket as an excuse. Oliver watches as his friend falters at the sight of his father’s office, refusing to look at anything as he hurries back out again. Yeah, he’s definitely going to have to talk to his friend.

* * *

Roy Harper frowns, turning to look at the girl sitting next to him. “Isn’t that your brother?” he asks, handing her the camera.

She frowns in return, pulling her feet off the dashboard as she snatches the camera quickly from his hands and turns toward the Merlyn Global building. She’d been texting, no doubt bored with the lack of results they were getting, but now she concentrates, fiddling with the zoom dial. “Yeah, it is,” Thea Queen says, only a touch of confusion in her voice. Then she shrugs, pulling the camera away from her face. “But he’s with Tommy,” she says, resigned.

“Tommy…?” Roy says expectantly, turning to look again at the three people exiting the building.

“Tommy Merlyn,” Thea answers easily, already seemingly bored again. “He’s my brother’s best friend. His dad owns the building.”

“Oh,” Roy says, disappointed. Another rich kid then - not someone with any real connection to Merlyn Global, or the dark archer. Not someone who can help him find the vigilante. He picks up the camera off the dashboard where Thea had set it down and resumes scoping out the building. He  _ will  _ find the vigilante. He will.

* * *

Tommy separates from them before they make it to the foundry and Oliver lets him go, resolving to talk to him when they have a moment to spare. 

Just the three of them again, Felicity starts to go over the data she stole from Merlyn Global. “In addition to the download, I also took the liberty of uploading a trojan to Merlyn’s systems,” she says proudly. “Figured it might come in handy.”

“That’s smart,” Digg says. “If Merlyn thinks he’s been compromised, it’ll help if we know first.”

It is smart. “Can you locate the seismic device?” Oliver asks, pacing. Talking to Tommy, telling him the truth, has gotten Oliver thinking. He’d come back to right his father’s wrongs, to cross everyone off the List, but his father’s biggest wrong - the truth behind the List - is the Undertaking. If Oliver stops that…

“I’m working on it,” Felicity says. “But there’s at least a teraflop of data to go through.”

“You all right?” Digg asks, watching Oliver pace with a concerned look on his face.

Oliver walks over to his old crate and pulls out the notebook that started it all. “My father, he told me that he failed the city,” he says, holding up the book for them to see. “Asked me to right his wrongs, but I never knew what he meant until now. It’s the Undertaking.” He finally turns to face them. “I promised myself that when I crossed all these names off the List, I’d be done, but… Taking down these people, it doesn’t honor him. I was just treating the symptoms while the disease festered. I stop the Undertaking… I wipe out the disease.” Will he though? Will it ever really be enough?

“What are you saying, Oliver?” Digg asks worriedly. “You would hang up the hood?”

“Merlyn’s plan is what I returned from the island to stop,” he says bluntly. “But…”

Digg patiently raises an eyebrow. “But what?”

“But it’s not the only thing I’ve been doing these past few months.” No, he’s been going after the symptoms - and liking the results, even if he knows he can’t forget about trying to eradicate the disease.

Diggle nods in agreement. “You’ve been doing good work Oliver - but even if we stop Merlyn from destroying the Glades, this city will still need you.”

Oliver hesitates, torn by indecision. On one hand, he’d only put on the hood to stop the Undertaking, even if he hadn’t known what it was at the time. On the other hand, he  _ has  _ been doing good work. Treating the symptoms, sure, but saving innocent lives. And the List… even if the people on it have nothing to do with the Undertaking, they’re still poisoning the city. Still corrupt and dangerous. Oliver’s saving lives every time he crosses off another name too. He doesn’t know if he can give either of those things up. It’s not a decision he can make right now.

“This will take a while,” he says, moving for his coat. “Call me when you’ve got something.”

“Where are you going?” Diggle asks, seemingly surprised at the change in the conversation.

“To talk to Tommy.”

* * *

Tommy is, of course, at Laurel’s. Oliver hesitates outside, aware of how awkward things have been between the three of them, but he hopes that one day he and Laurel can be friends too. Hopes that she’ll be happy with Tommy, in a way she never could be (never can be) with him. He knocks.

As Laurel answers the door, face shifting into a blank expression as she spots him, Oliver holds his hands up. He can’t blame her for being defensive, not with the way he’s acted around her since he came back. (He also can’t help but notice that she’s still as beautiful as ever. But she’s with Tommy now, and he wants both his friends to be happy.)

“I just came to talk with Tommy,” he says.

Laurel frowns, glancing back into her apartment. She takes a step forward, into the hallway, and partially closes the door behind her. “He’s been acting… different,” she says with concern. “Is everything alright between the two of you?”

Oliver hesitates, thinks about what to tell Laurel without lying to her too much - without lying to her anymore than he already has. “That’s what I came to find out,” he says. “But… I think this has something to do with his dad,” he offers after a second thought. It’s the truth, mostly, and phrased in a way that Laurel will believe. She knows about the bad relationship Tommy has with his father, had been there for him when Malcolm had cut Tommy off. She’d been the one to suggest that Tommy work at Verdant with Oliver. 

Sure enough, Laurel’s frown deepens and she nods, stepping backward again and reopening her apartment door. “He won’t tell me what’s wrong,” she says, standing aside in permission for Oliver to enter. “Maybe he’ll talk to you.”

If Oliver hadn’t known her that well, he might have guessed that a statement like that would pain her to admit - asking your ex-boyfriend, who cheated on you with your sister, to help your current boyfriend (your ex-boyfriend’s best friend) is not an easy thing to do. But Oliver does know Laurel, knows how much she cares about people. It might be awkward, but he doubts it’s a hard decision for her to make. 

“Thanks,” he says as he enters, nodding in appreciation. He makes his way to Laurel’s living room, where Tommy is sitting on the couch, as Laurel hovers anxiously in the doorway behind him. It’s telling that Tommy hasn’t said anything, hasn’t gotten up to see who was at the door. 

“Hey Tommy,” Oliver says gently, sitting next to his friend.

Tommy snorts and rolls his eyes. “Oliver. Should have known you’d come to check on me. Five years without you and the one time I actually want to be alone -”

Oliver easily ignores the jab, letting it pierce his heart for only a brief second before moving on. He glances at the beer in Tommy’s hand instead, choosing to focus on that. Laurel’s still in the doorway, and he looks up in her direction. ‘How many?’ he mouths, glancing between her and the beer bottle.

Laurel catches on quickly. She shakes her head. ‘Only two,’ she mouths back, subtly holding up two fingers.

Oliver nods once, his worry deepening as he turns back to Tommy. So it’s not the alcohol that’s making him act this way. And Oliver is… not good, at this emotional stuff. There hadn’t been anyone to empathize with for a long time while he was away, and too many times when showing emotion would have only gotten him killed.

He shifts in his seat. “Tommy…” he starts, not quite knowing what he’s going to say. He thinks of what he’s wanted others to say to him: he doesn’t like the constant questions about the island, the pressure to answer. He doesn’t like the crowding and the concerned looks. And Tommy is not one of the criminals he goes after - he doesn’t need to press answers out of him to solve any problems. He only needs Tommy to be alright. “You want to go see the Rockets on the 25th, when this is all over?” Assuming it is all over by then. “I haven’t been to a game since I’ve been back.”

Tommy looks up quickly, startled, obviously having expected Oliver to say something different. He blinks, then processes Oliver’s words. Oliver can practically see him pulling himself out of the funk he entered. “Um, sure?” Tommy says hesitantly. He straightens on the couch, voice strengthening. “Sure, I, I haven’t been in a while either.” He looks over to Laurel. “It’ll be fun, right?”

Laurel hesitates, but offers a smile. “Yeah, sure Tommy. We can all go.”

“The four of us then,” Oliver decides, not wanting to be the third wheel and screw up their relationship any more than he already has. It’s optimistic, perhaps, to imagine that everything will be over by the end of the month (that he’ll even still be around to give Tommy the distraction he deserves), but they’ve got solid intel now, and a plan, and it had been the only date in Oliver’s mind. “You bring Laurel, I’ll bring Speedy.”

Laurel moves forward, entering the conversation. “I don’t know,” she says, intentional amusement in her voice. “You sure Thea won’t want to bring her own boyfriend?”

Tommy laughs at the sour look on Oliver’s face and Oliver feels his heart lighten at the sound. His job here is done. He stands. 

“Then I’ll bring my bodyguard,” Oliver says, “and he can’t sit between them.” He knows he - Oliver Queen, billionaire playboy - doesn’t really intimidate Roy Harper, but Digg - ex-special forces - just might.

Both Laurel and Tommy laugh this time. Oliver makes his way to the door.

“Thanks,” Laurel says quietly as he passes, not taking her gaze off Tommy.

Oliver offers a small smile in return. He’d helped, but he knows Tommy still has a lot to process. “Keep an eye on him,” he responds, just as quietly.

“You sure you can’t stay?” Laurel asks, sounding like she actually means it.

Oliver thinks back to old times, to him and Tommy and Laurel, thick as thieves. They’d been good times, but they’re long gone now. None of them are who they once were. It doesn’t mean they can’t be something else again, but Oliver has an Undertaking to stop and his father’s wrongs to right. He shakes his head. “Maybe some other time.”

“Yeah,” Laurel says softly. “Some other time.”

The next time he’s in front of a computer, he books seven tickets to the Star City Rockets game on May 25th. It doesn’t feel right to keep excluding Felicity from his other life, and maybe it’s time people from both sides of his lives came together.

* * *

They get the location of the device later that night. Diggle goes after it; Oliver goes after Malcolm.

Standing in front of Malcolm’s office, Oliver can’t help but think of Tommy, and how his father’s actions have devastated him. He hopes his friend will forgive him for whatever happens next. He clicks on the voice synthesizer.

“Malcolm Merlyn,” he growls, strong and harsh from beneath the hood.  _ “You have failed this city!” _

Staring calmly at the green archer, Malcolm speaks. “And how have I done that?”

“The Undertaking. It ends now.”

But Malcolm has noticed the trojan Felicity put on his system, has already moved the earthquake device. He’s not who Oliver thought he was. 

“Ironic, isn’t it?” Malcolm says, standing there holding the arrow that Oliver had fired at him. He hadn’t hired the black archer - he  _ is  _ the black archer. “Last Christmas, I almost killed you. A few months ago, you saved my life.” He twirls the arrow in his hand. “And now you’re here trying to kill me. You should make up your mind.”

_ Tommy, I hope you forgive me for this,  _ Oliver thinks, but there’s no room for regret or indecision in this fight. “Done,” he says to Malcolm, and moves to fire another arrow. The fight that ensues is harsh and unforgiving and Oliver is very, very good but Malcolm is talented too and he’s got surprise on his side. Oliver hadn’t come expecting a fight, much less to fight the black archer again. His lack of preparation and readiness - his surprise at the secret just revealed - costs him. With one final punch, Oliver’s vision fades to black.

* * *

* * *

_ May 13 - May 15, 2013: _

John gets back to the foundry just in time to hear the start of Oliver’s fight with Malcolm. He narrows his eyes, studying Felicity’s computer screen as if it can give him the answers he’s looking for. “Is that what I think it is?”

Felicity doesn’t look away from the screen. “If you think Malcolm Merlyn just admitted to being the dark archer and is now currently fighting Oliver then, yeah, that’s what you think it is.” There’s a touch of desperation and panic to her voice and she spins around to face Digg. “What happened last time they fought?” she asks.

“What?” John replies, taken aback by the sudden question. Realization comes not a second later. Right, Felicity hadn’t been here last time Oliver had fought the dark archer. He frowns in remembrance, dread stirring in his gut.

“Because there was the period of time when the Arrow wasn’t seen for week and I looked it up and Oliver was in a suspiciously convenient motorcycle accident around that time too,” Felicity says quickly, all in one breath after he takes a moment too long to respond. 

“He… lost,” John admits hesitantly, aware of the sounds of fighting that are coming from Oliver’s comm. Silence falls as they both think about what that could mean for the current situation. It doesn’t look good for Oliver.

The two of them wait in tense silence as the fight seems to end, then, suddenly, a burst of static erupts from their speakers and the comm goes dead. Felicity jumps at the sound, reaching for her keyboard and furiously typing as though it’s just a computer glitch she can fix. John knows better than to be that optimistic.

* * *

Oliver wakes to pain, to a bucket of water being thrown on him, but while it’s been awhile, it’s not something new. His arms are stretched tightly above his head, cold, harsh chains digging into his wrists. Most of his gear is gone, including his shirt, and he can feel the cold air of the open room and the chill of the water that’s been poured over him on his chest. He aches from his fight with Malcolm, knows where each bruise will form, given enough time. His feet just barely touch the ground, most of his weight being supported by his wrists. This is not the first time Oliver’s been strung up like this. 

Carefully, methodically, he catalogues his injuries. He can’t afford any mistakes here. 

Malcolm surely knows who he is now, but that doesn’t mean he has any idea of what Oliver went through to become the Arrow. Maybe he thinks this situation will make Oliver lose hope, or give up. It won’t. Oliver’s in pain and vulnerable, sure, but he’s been in worse situations and he’s got a tracker in his boot and, hopefully, two people looking for him. 

The room itself is large and empty. A warehouse of some sort, likely partially underground given the stairs to the side. The man who dumped the water on him is already walking away, bucket in hand. Likely just a hired gun. Looking up, Oliver sees that his chains connect to a pipe above him. That… that could be exploitable, despite the length of the chains. 

A figure emerges from the darkness, and Oliver mentally gives Malcolm a point for dramatic effect, at the very least. “I hope I didn’t hurt you,” he says, calm and casual like it’s just another day. 

Oliver can hear the faint surprise and, possibly, admiration, in his voice. He doesn’t respond, trying to merge the Malcolm he’d known with the dark archer. 

“At least I can properly thank you now for saving my life,” Malcolm continues. He starts to pace around Oliver. “If I only knew how you were spending your nights... My hope is that I can explain everything to you to help you understand.” 

And Oliver has had mixed feelings about the situation, because this is Tommy’s father, but Malcolm’s words firmly remind him of everything else the man has done. “You murdered my father!” he says angrily, trying not to show how tense it makes him when Malcolm walks behind him. 

Malcolm claims to be doing this to honor his wife, the same way Oliver is honoring his father. He brags that Oliver will never be able to beat him, that Oliver doesn’t know what he’s fighting for, or what he’s willing to sacrifice. As Malcolm leaves, Oliver doesn’t let himself react; he can’t get too emotional, if he wants to get things done. 

Malcolm is wrong: Oliver knows exactly what he’s willing to sacrifice, and it’s not the Glades, and it’s not his family, and it’s not his friends. He’s the only removable piece on his side of the chessboard – and he won’t let anyone else pay the price for his inaction. 

Oliver waits until he’s sure Malcolm’s gone, until he can’t hear any other people nearby, then hoists himself up off the ground. Slowly, aware of his bruises and his aching shoulders but choosing to ignore them, Oliver climbs until he reaches the top of the chains. He pauses, not looking forward to what comes next and knowing how much it’s going to hurt, then lets go.

He falls and the sudden strain on the chain breaks the pipe holding him in the air. He hits the ground with a painful thud, curls in on himself and groans in pain. But there’s no time to dwell on his injuries. A man comes down the stairs and Oliver hurls himself upward, throwing himself at the man and knocking him unconscious against the wall. He pauses, considers snapping the man’s neck, but he can hear footsteps approaching – he’s waited too long. He moves, shifting out of sight. When the man hurries forward Oliver jumps him from the side, wrapping the chains still attached to his wrists around the man’s neck and choking him until he too falls unconscious. 

As the man falls Oliver moves with him, intent on searching his pockets for the keys. But he’s too out of it, from the blow to the head, the sudden awakening, and he doesn’t hear the third man approaching until it’s too late. He looks up at the gun pointed at him and realizes the only thing he can do is hope he dodges. He scrambles. A gunshot sounds. 

Oliver blinks, the man falling with a mangled scream as he drops his gun, a bullet in the back of his thigh. There’s no time for surprise. Oliver fights against his body’s protests and surges upward again. He kicks the man’s gun away, then knocks him to the ground. When he looks up he locks eyes with Diggle. 

Digg is out of breath, wide eyed at the scene before him, and tense. “I take back every joke I made about you sticking a tracking device in your boot,” he says, still on alert, but grateful to have found Oliver at all. 

Oliver can only let out a hoarse laugh and return to his search for the keys. He sees Diggle take in the scene, the chains hanging from Oliver’s wrists, the bruises on his exposed chest, the pipe on the ground. 

“I brought the car,” Diggle says, “we should be able to leave without anyone seeing.” 

Good – Oliver’s not in a state to be seen by anybody. He nods, finally locating the keys. “Thanks,” he says, words heavy with meaning. 

He’s not too good with emotions, but Diggle knows he’s thanking him for more than the secrecy and privacy the tinted windows of the car afford. The chains clank to the ground around Oliver as he unlocks them and together the two of them make their way out. They grab Oliver’s gear, including his broken bow, from the front room (where there’s another unconscious man, courtesy of Diggle), and head for the foundry.

* * *

Leaving Queen Consolidated, Felicity is extremely grateful that the work day is over. She’s already found the schematics of the Markov device, and has an idea of how to shut it down, but she can’t stop thinking about Oliver. About the dark archer, and whether or not Oliver is even still alive.

That’s part of why Diggle had insisted she’d gone to work, she knows. He didn’t want her waiting around, knowing that he might be returning with a body rather than a friend. But Felicity can’t help but believe that Oliver is still alive, somewhere. She pulls her phone out of her purse and glances at the clock, surely it’s been long enough?

Deciding she can’t wait any longer, she calls Diggle. 

“Yeah Felicity, I got him,” Diggle says immediately upon answering.

A swell of relief fills her – she doesn’t know what she would have done if she’d received any other answer. 

“Thank God. Is he ok?”

“Mostly.”

“Ok. I'm on my way.” It feels like she’s spending more time than not in the foundry these days, like Diggle and Oliver are the only two people she sees outside of work anymore, but, right now, with the Undertaking hanging over them, Felicity wouldn’t have it any other way. 

“Miss Smoak.”

…Except there is Quentin Lance. Detective Lance. Looks like returning to the foundry might just have to wait.

* * *

Tommy heads into the club on the night of May 14th, knowing his world’s about to change forever. He’s had time to process what’s about to happen, to think about what  _ his father _ is about to do, and for the first time he’s fully behind Oliver’s crusade. Whatever it takes to stop this. 

This time, he doesn’t bother with knocking, entering the code and heading straight into the basement. Oliver, Felicity, and Diggle are all down there, and Oliver looks like he’s about to leave – though it’s not yet dark out. 

“Where are you going?” Tommy asks, startling nobody but Felicity. 

Oliver looks over at him calmly. “To talk to my mother. I need to know where the device is.” 

Tommy freezes, thinks about offering the same thing, but knows it’s pointless. Whereas Oliver might have a chance convincing his mother, Tommy knows better than to try and talk to his father. He nods, watching Oliver leave, then turns to Diggle and Felicity. 

“Anything I can do to help?” 

They exchange glances, and he can see their skepticism, but he’s not leaving. 

“Well, there is one thing,” Felicity says, pulling out a small notebook. She shows Tommy the symbol on the inside. “A glyph, of the Glades. It’s how we knew where the Undertaking was happening.” 

Tommy takes the book. “So the device has to be somewhere in the Glades,” he reasons. 

They nod. 

“Well then,” he stands on the other side of Felicity from Diggle. “Where do we start looking?” 

They exchange glances again, and this time it’s Diggle who speaks. 

“Did your dad… ever go to the Glades? Is there anything there that would mean anything to him?”

* * *

When Oliver gets back to the foundry, still reeling from talking to his mother, he’s surprised to find that Tommy is still there, brainstorming with Diggle and Felicity. 

“The Undertaking is happening tonight,” he announces, drawing all eyes to him. 

“Oliver, we may have found something,” Diggle responds. There’s steel in his voice, anger at the situation and the news Oliver has just delivered, but there’s hope too, and a desire to pass that hope onto Oliver.

The archer joins the three of them at the computer, and listens to them talk about the glyph, and Star City’s old subway. 

“For about a mile, the fault runs underneath the old Tenth Street subway line,” Diggle says, tracing the image on the screen. 

“Dollars to donuts, the seismic device is somewhere along there.” 

Oliver exchanges glances with Tommy. They both know exactly where the device is.

* * *

Moira Queen calls a press conference to reveal the truth and beg people to leave the Glades. Oliver suits up and leaves with Diggle to go after Malcolm. Felicity connects with Lance to help him disable the device. Tommy goes after Laurel. 

Even now, with the chance of death hanging over all of them closer than ever before, his friends refuse to leave. Oliver’s not much of an optimist, but he swears he can feel the hope grow in his chest. (Hope won’t win the fight that’s ahead of him).

* * *

The fight with Malcolm is fast and furious. He puts a knife in Diggle’s side, Oliver shoves an arrow through himself and into Malcolm’s heart. 

“It’s over,” Oliver says proudly, Felicity’s words about having disabled the device ringing in his ear. 

But Malcolm’s not about to let Oliver have the last word. “If there’s anything I’ve learned as a successful business man,” he chokes out, “it’s… redundancy.” 

Horror washes over Oliver at those words, thoughts of Felicity in the foundry and Laurel and Tommy, no doubt at CNRI, fill his mind. A second device – how had he never considered the possibility?

Oliver has barely gotten the words out over the comm link when the ground in the distance starts to shake, lights blinking out in part of the Glades. Except… there’s a concussive sound from above, and when Oliver looks up he just barely manages to spot a figure diving at incredible speed from the sky. Not a second later an explosion sounds, but it’s high in the sky, a fireball above the Glades. The ground has settled; the city is safe. 

Superman lands faster than Oliver has ever seen him, sending the gravel of the rooftop flying as his feet touch down. Oliver is slightly hunched over, right hand pressed against the self-inflicted arrow wound, breathing heavy and fighting through the pain. Superman’s eyes flicker between him, the body of Malcolm Merlyn behind him, and Diggle, leaning heavily on the doorway to the roof. 

He seems surprised for a moment, but it fades quickly. Oliver reminds himself that Superman has seen the dead and the dying before – how could he not have? – wondering why he’d ever pictured Superman reacting differently. 

Oliver doesn’t have to confirm that Malcolm is dead, Superman’s senses probably do that for him, but the caped hero still takes a halted step toward the prone figure, as if wishing he could help.

Oliver wonders if the hero is expecting an apology, or regret for his actions, but he’s not about to say sorry. The only regret he feels is for the fact that Tommy has now lost both a mother and a father, though truth be told Tommy had lost his father a long time ago. Regardless of the fact that Superman has just saved half the Glades, Oliver… really doesn’t want to see him right now. 

The pain fills half his mind and he still can’t stand up quite straight. He wants to know how Felicity and Lance and Laurel and Tommy are doing, but he doesn’t want Superman to overhear their conversation so he doesn’t turn on the mic. He can’t deal with Superman’s disappointment right now when he knows that it was him or Malcom, can’t deal with the fact that if this had been Superman’s city it would have been saved a long time ago. 

So he stands there, breathing hard and wanting to leave, as Superman takes in the scene. 

The superhero’s gaze finally lands solidly on Oliver after a moment, widening again as they take him in. This time, Superman takes a hurried step forward, as if about to rush to Oliver’s side. Oliver takes a step back in response, wincing as he does so. After what he’s just done, he hadn’t expected the worry that fills Superman’s expression. 

Superman halts mid-step, seemingly unsure of how to handle Oliver’s reaction. “You’re-“

“Fine,” Oliver grunts out, interrupting him. “I’m fine. Thank you for your help.” He waits, wondering if Superman is going to take him straight to prison or a hospital first. When a moment passes without either of them moving, Oliver realizes he can’t play the silent game right now. He either needs to move, or he’s going to collapse. 

He raises an eyebrow at Superman, forgetting that the man might not be able to see it. “Well?” he bites out expectantly, swaying on his feet.

Superman frowns in confusion, reaching out hesitantly as though he wants to help Oliver before moving his arms back to his sides. “Well what?” he asks. “Do you need me to take you to a hospital?” He takes a worried step forward.

Seriously? Is Oliver going to have to spell it out for him? “I broke your rule,” he says flatly, glancing behind Superman to Malcolm’s body. 

Superman starts, there’s no other word for it. His eyes widen in astonishment and he stares at Oliver. “You really think that, that’s that what I care about, right now, in this situation?”

Oliver can’t deal with his disappointment, or his emotions. He nods towards the doorway where Diggle stands. “My friend,” he says. “He needs a hospital.” 

Superman pauses, looking between them, but he’ll always be the person who helps others, no matter what. With a quick question for permission, Superman lifts Diggle up and rushes away. Oliver doesn’t linger to watch, he trusts Superman with this, at the very least. Instead he clicks on the comms, hurrying for the stairs – as much as he can hurry in his state. 

“Felicity,” he says, part question, wondering if any of the equipment in the foundry is still operational. 

“Yeah?” she answers, voice shaky but confident. “What happened?”

“Superman,” Oliver says in lieu of an explanation. “What happened in the Glades?”

“Well that’s what-” she starts, cutting herself off. “No one really knows. I mean, the media evacuated as soon as they could so there isn’t exactly any news coming from the Glades right now. I pulled up social media and while some people seem to think that was just a warning shake, most agree that someone saved them. The popular opinion is Superman, which, I mean, it’s technically true but we-”

“Felicity.” Oliver cuts her off before she can get too indignant at their anonymity. “How are you doing?” 

A pause. “I’m fine,” she answers, and her voice only shakes the slightest bit. “The foundry shook a bit, but there doesn’t seem to be any structural damage. You and Diggle?”

“Superman took Digg to the hospital,” Oliver answers, completely ignoring the question as to his well-being. He’s out of Merlyn Global now, almost to his motorcycle. “I need you to get the cops to the top of Merlyn Global – they’ll find Malcolm Merlyn there. I’ll be back shortly.” 

He makes it halfway to the foundry before the comm link clicks again.

“Thanks for ditching me Arrow,” Diggle says sarcastically. 

Oliver puts together three things from that short statement: one, that Diggle has been treated and is fine; two, that Superman returned to the roof to find him missing; and three, Superman is likely with Diggle again, which is why Digg hadn’t called him Oliver. 

He doesn’t know what to say to that. Doesn’t know how to respond to Superman, to deal with the fallout of what has just happened. He wonders if anyone died during the short tremors, or the rioting that surely took place in the Glades, wonders how Tommy will react now, knowing that Oliver killed his father. He’d worked with Superman once, two months ago back in March, but they haven’t bumped into each other since then. Oliver isn’t very good with people these days but he thought there’d been something between them – not a partnership, not yet, but allies, at the very least. Two people working for similar goals, even if their methods differed. 

He doesn’t know how his actions now will affect that tenuous relationship.

So he blocks it out and ignores it and focuses on his friends, his partners. “Everything good?” he asks, and he knows Diggle will know he’s only asking about his injuries. In his mind, he can already see Digg frowning in response.

“I’m fine Arrow,” Diggle responds and yep, that’s disapproval in his voice. “Last time I checked you were the one who had an arrow go through you.”

“I’m almost back–” Oliver stops himself from saying ‘at the foundry’ at the last minute “– I’ll take care of it there.”

“Oliver, Felicity,” Diggle says, apparently dropping the subject, and Oliver really hopes that he’s stepped away from Superman. “There’s someone here who’s interested in talking to both of you – but I’m not taking him to the foundry unless you’re both okay with it.”

“Digg–” Oliver starts warningly. Felicity cuts him off. 

“You mean Superman?” she asks, voice high and excited. “Of course! I mean, what’s he gonna do – he’s the good guy. I mean, he’s  _ the  _ good guy.”

Despite his trepidations, Oliver can’t help but smile slightly at Felicity’s enthusiasm. He pulls the motorcycle into the alley behind Verdant and turns it off. 

“Oliver?” Diggle asks, still waiting for his response. 

Oliver still hesitates, weighs the pros and cons, acknowledges what he’s thought previously – that if Superman really wanted to come he could, he didn’t have to ask. “Fine,” he says, “but I’m not taking off my hood.” Diggle can show Superman the foundry, but he’s not learning about Oliver Queen. 

There’s a risk that he will anyway – Verdant is owned by Oliver Queen – but there’s always been that risk. Superman has always been capable of looking under the hood, of following him home. Oliver would never even know Superman had done it. But nothing’s come out yet, no news articles from Lois Lane about the Green Arrow’s identity, so Oliver has to trust that Superman doesn’t know yet or, if he does, he’s keeping the information to himself. 

Superman is fast, and he lands in the alley with Diggle just as Oliver reaches the side door. The three of them exchange looks. 

“Thank you,” Superman says, trying to meet Oliver’s gaze under the hood. “Are you sure you don’t need a hospital?”

Oliver grunts. “I’m fine.” He can’t quite turn his back on Superman, despite the fact that the man can move faster than he can see, so he shifts his body slightly so that he can watch Superman out of the corner of his eye and ensure that Superman can’t see him type in the code to the door. 

Down in the basement, he heads straight for the med kit, watching absently as Superman looks around in interest and Felicity excitedly greets him. Diggle obviously already got his hero worship out of the way (and his uncertainty – despite the almost two years that have passed, Diggle isn’t quite yet comfortable with the idea of aliens), for he only watches Felicity interact with Superman for a moment or two before he realizes Oliver is trying to patch himself up. With Digg’s help, Oliver temporarily patches himself together. Still, he refuses to take off his uniform, to take a seat – to relax while Superman stands there.

It’s an odd contrast, Superman in the center of the dark basement. His uniform is bold and bright primary colors and he stands for hope and the goodness of humanity. Oliver hides in the shadows, and refuses to show his face even to this man. 

Superman is grinning at Felicity and Oliver knows that the two of them will get along fabulously – Superman almost always has an easy grin ready, an optimistic view of the world, and Felicity’s joy is infectious. 

But Felicity has been involved in Oliver’s darker view of the world for several months now. She gushes and fawns over Superman for a few minutes but her mind quickly reminds her of the seriousness of the situation when she turns to see Diggle patching him up. 

“Arrow!” she exclaims (and he’s so grateful that even in her excited state she remembers not to use his name). “You told me you were fine!”

He sees her glance over the bloody gauze that Diggle is throwing away. 

“I am,” he says stiffly, pulling his sleeve back up over his injured shoulder. “Malcolm?”

Felicity frowns at him but straightens, pulling her mind back into the moment. With only a glance back at Superman, she heads for her computer. “I sent the police there, like you asked, and it looks like…” she clicks around on the computer, types a few things in. “They found his body.”

Oliver nods. Good – the nightmare that is the Undertaking is finally over. He wants to ask if his mother is in custody (he knows she is), wants to ask about Laurel and Tommy, wants to call Thea and see how she’s handling everything, but Superman is still there. 

“What, exactly, happened?” Superman asks, concerned, taking a step toward the three of them. 

Well, there’s no point in not telling him.

“Malcolm Merlyn and Moira Queen wanted to level the Glades, they considered that area of the city a lost cause. They wanted to destroy it and rebuild.”

Superman nods. “I saw Mrs. Queen’s news broadcast – it’s how I knew to come to Star City.” 

That explains a few things. “I confronted her a few days ago in front of her son-” because that’s what the Arrow had done even if Oliver hadn’t been the one under the hood “-it seemed she’d been having a change of heart for a while. But Merlyn wasn’t going to change his mind so easily.” 

Superman’s expression stills ever so slightly, evidently remembering the body on the roof. 

“Felicity worked with a captain in the SCPD to dismantle the Markov device, but it was only after I defeated Merlyn that we learned there was a second device.” 

Superman’s expression clears as he nods. “I’m glad I was here to help then,” he says easily, meeting Oliver’s gaze.

Does he truly not judge Oliver for what he did? Oliver doesn’t understand, doesn’t understand how Superman could forgive him so easily. He has no regrets for his actions, besides Tommy, but he knows Superman doesn’t see the world that way. Knows Superman would have found another way, would never have gotten into this mess to begin with. The Green Arrow will never be in the same league as Superman, so Oliver doesn’t understand how Superman can forgive what he perceives as the Arrow’s mistakes. 

But Oliver’s not so stupid that he doesn’t realize that hundreds of people in his city would have died had Superman not shown up. He nods gratefully in response. 

Superman looks around again, taking in the foundry and Oliver’s team, then he turns back to the Green Arrow. “Look, I don’t want to leave if there’s still a lot of work to be done, but this is your city, and I don’t want to interfere either.” 

Oliver understands what he hasn’t quite asked. There is a lot that Oliver needs to do that he wouldn’t feel comfortable doing with Superman watching over his shoulder – namely, things that involve Oliver Queen. But… there are still some things that Superman could help with.

“The Glades,” he says simply. “They’re panicking. Seeing you… might help.” 

“A public appearance.” Superman nods. “I can do that.” 

He turns, as if to leave, but Oliver takes a step forward as well. “Wait.” He moves despite the pain he’s in, rifles through one of the cabinet drawers before he finds what he’s looking. It’s one of the untraceable phones he’d acquired when he’d first given one to Lance. He hesitates, then hands it to Superman. He’s not sure what he would be able to do for the superhero but… 

“If you ever need anything,” he says. “My number is the only one in there.” 

Superman looks hopeful as he accepts the phone and he grins at Oliver. “Thank you,” he says, “that goes both ways.” He turns to Diggle and Felicity and nods respectfully at them. “Keep up the great work.” Then he’s gone, hurrying out of the foundry and leaving the three of them alone. 

There’s a moment of stunned silence in Superman’s wake, but now that the hero’s finally gone Oliver sags, giving into the events of the night. Diggle instantly turns, holding him up, and Felicity takes a few steps forward, hands up as if she’s not sure what to do with them.

“I really should stop believing you when you say you’re fine,” she says, somewhat hysterically. 

Oliver groans, lets Diggle support him for just a moment, then stands again. “I am fine,” he says firmly, pushing through the pain. 

“No, you’re not Oliver.” 

Oliver’s not leaning on Diggle anymore, but that doesn’t mean Diggle has let go of him. 

“You need to rest.”

Maybe it’s what his body needs, but it’s not what his friends and his city and his family need. He shakes his head. “I can’t. The Undertaking isn’t over yet.”

Diggle’s gaze turns compassionate and Felicity nods, her nervous energy subdued. 

“Your mom.” It’s not a question.

“And Thea,” Oliver confirms anyway. “And Tommy and Laurel and even Lance. Not to mention the Glades.”

“How ‘bout this,” Diggle suggests. “You let Superman take care of the Glades, I’ll take care of Tommy and the Lances, and you go home to Thea and get some rest.” 

“Your mom was arrested after the press conference,” Felicity adds, wincing at the statement but continuing on anyway. “So you probably can’t see her ‘till morning anyway.”

It is morning, technically, but Oliver doesn’t protest. Thea had been at the top of the list anyway. He nods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A longer chapter here, but I really couldn't see splitting it in two. Also, I have finished this story! Chapter 10: The Aftermath, will be up in only a few days on May 15th. Thanks for everyone who seems to be enjoying this AU!


	11. Aftermath

_May 13, 2013, morning:_

Too many reporters are camped out at the base of the driveway to the Queen’s mansion, but the security staff are doing their jobs – nobody has been permitted entrance onto the property. Oliver has to stop at the front gate to prove who he is, then shoots past the crowd on his motorcycle. Not for the first time he admits to the advantages of being a billionaire’s son – advantages he hadn’t had for five years.

The motorcycle screeches to a stop at the front door, and Oliver doesn’t bother to put it away properly. He turns it off, tosses the keys to one of the two men standing at the front door – at least Moira had had the foresight to hire additional security forces before her announcement – and hangs his helmet off the handlebars.

Inside the mansion is quiet, in the way the large, empty building usually is when they’re not hosting a party, and Oliver stops to a halt in the main entrance. Would Thea be in her room, or would she have gone somewhere else? He hasn’t been nearly as close to his sister as he should have been since his return, and before that he’d missed five formative years of her life. The truth is, he barely knows her better than she knows him. Coming to a decision, Oliver heads for the living room just off the entrance, deciding to start with the nearest room.

He freezes in the doorway, drinking in the sight before him. Thea is sitting on the couch alone. She’s leaning forward, staring intently at one spot on the carpet, forearms resting on her knees. There’s a phone clutched tightly in her right hand and silent tears dripping down her face. She looks shattered. He steps forward and she jolts, looking up with surprise.

There’s a brief, momentary panic in her expression before she shifts to relief. She stands and they meet in the middle, Oliver engulfing her in a hug that he never wants to end.

“Ollie,” she says, voice cracking, muffled against his shoulder.

She’s aggravating his wounds, but Oliver couldn’t care less. “I’m here,” he says quietly in response.

The phone is still clutched tightly in Thea’s hand, digging into his back slightly, and she sobs into his shirt. The news plays in the background, sound muted but captions on. Right now there’s a reporter on screen actually in the Glades, the streets behind her empty. He takes in the feeling of his sister in his arms, of the warm body clutching tightly to him. His shoulder throbs with a constant background pain and his muscles ache from the exertion but he’s not letting go before she does. (Hugs. He’d missed hugs a lot.)

“How could she?” Thea cries out, and there’s no need for clarification.

Despite his own anger at their mother, Oliver knows Thea needs something else right now. “She was trying to protect us,” he responds, his voice still low and calm.

Thea pulls back from the hug slightly, still not letting him go, to look him in the face. “How can you say that? She was… was willing to murder hundreds of people!”

“I didn’t say it was right,” Oliver says, shifting his hand to rest on her shoulder. “I’m just giving you her reasoning.”

Thea shakes her head and Oliver leads the two of them to the couch.

“Walter left, before… before Mom called the reporters,” Thea tells him with a sniffle. “I think, I think Mom knew something about his kidnapping.”

Oliver feels an irrational surge of anger at his step-father. He knows it’s the right thing for Walter, understands why the man can’t bear to face the Queen Mansion or his wife (it was unlikely Walter had known the Undertaking would occur that night when he’d made his decision to leave), but all Oliver can think about right now is how this is going to affect Thea. They settle on the couch together and Oliver clasps his sister’s hand.

“Walter’s a good man,” he ends up saying. “He’d come as soon as you called.” Oliver hadn’t known that was what he was about to say, but he truly believes it. He hasn’t had much time to get to know Walter but he’s seen the way the man looks at Thea. That’s enough for him to know how much Walter loves her.

“Are you alright?” he finally asks, carefully and with concern. “They told me at the front gate you only just got back yourself.”

Thea stifles another sob. She shakes her head and glances at the phone she still has a tight grip on. “Roy,” she says. “He lives in the Glades. I had to… I had to do something.”

Oliver glances up, as though he expects Roy to be nearby even though he knows there’s no one else in the room. Thankfully he doesn’t think Thea is devastated enough for something to have happened to the kid. Whatever concerns he has about his sister’s boyfriend are easily pushed aside. He squeezes Thea’s hand comfortingly.

“Where is he?” he asks calmly, mind running through the options, cursing himself for not thinking that maybe Thea could have been _in the Glades_ while he’d been fighting Malcolm.

“Still in the Glades,” Thea responds. She sniffles slightly, then uses the back of her hand (the one still clutching the phone, not the one still desperately holding onto Oliver) to wipe away some of her tears. “He, he wanted to help people.” Her voice turns less shaken at the end, proud of her boyfriend, and Oliver can’t help but feel the same way.

Maybe Roy isn’t such a bad choice after all, though Oliver doesn’t know if he’ll ever actually warm up to the idea of his little sister dating. Sometimes, to him, she’s still that twelve-year-old kid he hadn’t even told he’d be leaving.

“He texted though,” Thea continued, gesturing with her phone. “Said it’s calmed down slightly since Superman’s announcement.”

Oliver Queen’s been trying to make it home from the club, he’s been stuck in the city on his motorcycle, unaware of the situation in the Glades and unable to come to the phone. He knows nothing about Superman and the Green Arrow’s involvement, and nothing about the situation other than what the general public know. “Superman?” he asks.

“Yeah.” Thea sits up straighter, wipes her tears again. Her voice is stronger and Oliver knows she hasn’t recovered from their mother’s betrayal, but she’s going to be alright. “Apparently, the Green Arrow stopped one of the earthquake devices and Superman stopped the other. He said he couldn’t find it until it started to go off, which is why there were still tremors.”

“We’re lucky he was here then,” Oliver says. Because they are so, so lucky that Superman had been watching Moira’s announcement at the time she’d made it. Metropolis is on the other side of the country, four hours ahead of them – Superman could have been asleep (if he needed sleep), or simply doing something other than watching the news, and hundreds would have died.

Thea snorts, shakes her head. “You know,” she says, “I was so _mad_ when the Arrow attacked Mom but now, I’m starting to wonder if he already knew then, what she was involved in. I hated him for what he did to her but now…”

Oliver understands the complicated emotions flowing through his sister. He doesn’t need her to like his alter ego. (But he hadn’t known, he’d only suspected and not wanted to believe. If only he’d done _something_ then. It’s not worth dwelling on.) “It’s alright to hate him for attacking Mom,” he starts.

Thea gives him a look, stopping him from saying anything more. “He saved hundreds of lives tonight,” she responds incredulously.

Oliver shakes his head. “The two things are not mutually exclusive,” he says. “He’s also taken lives. You can hate him and thank him at the same time.”

Thea seemed skeptical, but she doesn’t argue. Is she a fan of the Green Arrow now, or is she just having trouble with the idea of feeling two different things at once? After a moment, she yawns though, and Oliver is reminded of his own exhaustion.

He can’t help but yawn in return.

Thea chuckles at his answering yawn and Oliver grins in response, scooting closer to her. Taking the invitation for what it is, Thea leans into him and rests her head on his shoulder.

“You know, it might take Roy a while to get back to you. Things were pretty chaotic in the Glades when I left.”

Thea hums wordlessly in agreement, glancing down at her phone again, but she doesn’t move.

Oliver lets it slide – he can understand wanting to wait up for someone you love. Or someone you might love – Thea hasn’t known Roy too long, he doesn’t expect her to have already figured out her feelings.

So they sit and they wait and, slowly, Thea falls asleep against Oliver. He holds her, feeling incredibly protective, and lets her rest for about ten minutes before he realizes this isn’t going to work. He would gladly stay here all night, keeping his sister comfortable and safe, but his recent injuries mean that that isn’t an option right now. Thea’s head is resting on his bad shoulder and, after ten minutes, the throbbing has increased enough that Oliver knows it’s only going to get worse. And his aching joints and muscles make it much more difficult for him than usual to maintain the same position on the couch. He can’t sit like this all night, much less for another hour.

Coming to a decision, Oliver stands slowly and carefully, scooping up Thea as he moves. He keeps his left arm around her back, her head still resting on his left shoulder, and slips his right arm under her knees. An eighteen-year-old woman is no light weight, despite Thea’s small size, but she doesn’t feel heavy to Oliver. He pauses for a moment, but Thea only mumbles slightly and doesn’t wake.

Oliver carries her up to her room and tucks her into bed. She’s still got a grip on her phone, but it’s not iron-clad, so he carefully slips it free, putting it on her bedside table. With one last fond glance backward, Oliver quietly closes her door behind him as he leaves.

Despite his own pain and exhaustion, Oliver only takes a seat on the edge of his bed when he reaches his own room. He pulls out his phone, debates for a moment, then calls Diggle.

The phone rings twice, then Diggle answers. “ _All good Oliver,_ ” he says immediately, wasting no time on greetings. “ _Tommy, Laurel, and Captain Lance are all at Laurel’s place. None of them got injured._ ”

Oliver closes his eyes in relief, gives himself a minute. “Tommy?”

“ _Asked about you. I couldn’t say much obviously, but I told them you were at home with Thea._ ” He pauses. “ _I don’t think he knows about Malcolm yet._ ”

This time Oliver winces. His friendship with Tommy has survived so much already, he doesn’t know if it can take any more blows. He doesn’t want to dwell on it.

“How are you holding up Digg?”

“ _Heading home,_ ” Diggle responds, “ _but I’m good man. You need to get some rest yourself._ ”

Oliver nods, though he knows Diggle can’t see it. “I was going to call Felicity too…”

“ _Let her get some rest too,_ ” Diggle says firmly, and Oliver can just picture him shaking his head. “ _You just saw her. We’re all fine Oliver._ ”

Right. Of course. Oliver knows that. He shakes his own head, trying to clear his mind, and realizes that Diggle is right. After everything that’s happened the past week he isn’t thinking straight. He’s exhausted and in pain and, hopefully, sleep will grant him the clarity he’s looking for.

“Right,” he responds. “Foundry, tomorrow?”

“ _Let’s wait until noon at least?_ ” Diggle says, amusement clear in his own exhausted and pain-filled tone.

Oliver hasn’t looked at a clock recently and he can only imagine how late (or rather, early) it is. He gives his agreement, knowing there’s still things he needs to take care of outside of the foundry, then hangs up. Sitting on the bed, knowing he needs sleep, Oliver wonders if he’s actually going to get it.

He thinks about pulling some blankets onto the floor, about opening a window, but he’s been home almost eight months now, he’s had time to adjust, and he’s just about drop-dead exhausted. The bed it is.

* * *

Oliver wakes quickly, to a sudden noise, and sits upright in bed almost instantaneously, ignoring the way the movement tugs at his injuries. His heart is pounding in the way that lets him know it’s not just his awakening that has him panicking, he was probably in the midst of a nightmare when he woke, but he can’t remember it now. He takes deep breaths and listens carefully for the noise that woke him.

The sounds come from the direction of Thea’s bedroom. Her door opening, footsteps down the hall towards the stairs. Oliver throws the blankets off, pulls on a t-shirt, and follows her. _It’s probably nothing_ , he tells himself, but his paranoia means he can’t quite believe it.

Of course, it isn’t nothing, but it is just Roy. Oliver reaches the top of the main staircase just as Thea reaches the bottom, throwing herself into her boyfriend’s arms. She’s grinning so, so widely and Roy – red hoodie almost black and streaks of dirt on his face – is grinning just as strongly in return. It’s pure relief, and Roy holds her strongly like he never wants to let her go.

Part of Oliver disapproves, the other part looks at Thea and can’t help but be grateful. Silently he backs away and leaves Thea to her boyfriend. It’s only just after ten in the morning, which means that he’s barely gotten six hours of sleep. More than some nights, but probably not enough, given everything that has just happened. But now that Oliver’s awake he can’t go back to bed – there’s too much to do.

For a little while longer though, Thea will remain his priority.

After hiding his bloody shirt and rebandaging his wounds as best he can, he slips down one of the back staircases and heads for the kitchen. He knows there’s extra security around the mansion but he doesn’t know if any of the regular staff will be showing up for their duties. Who wants to work for a woman that had been about to commit mass murder? Thankfully, Oliver gets a welcome surprise when he enters the large room (who needs three stoves?): Raisa.

He smiles slightly. “Доброе утро,” he says warmly. “I didn’t know if anyone would show.”

“Ol-ee-ver,” Raisa replies just as warmly. “I have known you and Thea since you were children. Where else would I be?”

Oliver can only grin in response. “I was going to prepare breakfast…”

Raisa chuckles, shooing him towards the much less formal table in the corner of the kitchen, as opposed to their dining room. “Sit, sit. Breakfast is almost ready.”

But Oliver doesn’t sit, not right away. “I’ll get Thea.” He pauses at one of the entrances to the kitchen. “Also, her boyfriend is here, he’ll probably be hungry.”

“Yes, I have met this Roy.” Raisa’s tone is both fond and warning, a reminder of how much she knows the both of them. Like Oliver, she too seems to have recognized Roy’s good qualities but is reluctant to have Thea dating.

Oliver’s grin stays on his face as he heads to the living room where Thea and Roy sit on the couch, talking. They’re holding hands and, though Roy stands when he sees Oliver, he doesn’t let go of Thea. Thea stands slower, still looking tired but also apprehensive about how Oliver will treat her boyfriend. This morning, at least, she has nothing to worry about.

“Raisa made breakfast,” he says. “You’re both invited.”

“Oh thank god, I’m starving,” Roy blurts out without thinking. He freezes, evidently realizing these are the first words he’s spoken to Oliver.

But Thea laughs and Oliver grins slightly and Roy blushes sheepishly. The three of them head back to the kitchen for breakfast.

* * *

* * *

_May 14, 2013:_

Even though Diggle had said noon, Oliver makes it to the foundry by eleven. He’d had an enjoyable breakfast with Thea and Roy but the two of them had clearly wanted some time alone together and Oliver has things to do. He heads straight for the computer and pulls up all the latest news.

Superman had done as promised, and spoken to the people of the Glades, but he’d also done more than that. Now Oliver knows where Thea had gotten her information from as he watches a news reporter give Superman an impromptu interview. Superman describes how he knew about the crisis, then proceeds to share credit with both the Green Arrow and the SCPD.

Lance had said some throwaway comment about getting suspended the previous night (this morning?) but after Superman’s own endorsement (even if he doesn’t specifically name Lance), Oliver’s not sure that the suspension is going to stick. News of his mother’s arrest is also prominent but Oliver can’t blame the reporters – they’re calming people’s fears, ensuring them that one of the people responsible for the disaster that could have been is no longer a problem.

Which means Oliver also can’t blame them, or the SCPD, for already disseminating news about Malcolm Merlyn’s death. He hopes that’s not the way Tommy finds out, but he understands that people are afraid and no news on Merlyn, in this case, would have made people panic.

There were videos of Moira Queen’s arrest, thanks to the many cameras in the room at the time, but they seem to have been taken down already. Instead Oliver reads the hastily written articles, searching for information that he’ll confirm when he heads to the police station later. He wants to be prepared. The charge against her seems to be conspiracy to commit murder, which makes sense of course.

Reading the news, Oliver is torn. Part of him is hopeful that, given that her actions alerted Superman and helped save the Glades, she’ll get off easy. The other part of him is disgusted at her participation in the Undertaking and angry about what she’s done.

Putting his fraught emotions aside, Oliver shifts from news about Malcolm and his mother to news about the Glades. The death toll varies but the most consistent number Oliver can find is nine – nine people who died in the Glades last night.

One was a heart attack, potentially brought on by the stress of the situation, though Oliver doesn’t know if he would attribute that to the Undertaking. Two are from a car accident, trying to flee the Glades. Two are recently released convicts, killed by police officers when, upon learning that they’d got out of Iron Heights only to be killed by an earthquake, had decided to go on a rampage. Three are less certain – they could be opportunistic muggings, or targeted attacks, or simply people caught up by the riots. It’ll be difficult to determine if their deaths were accidental or not, but there’s no doubt that they weren’t natural deaths.

Only one person seems to have died as a direct result of the Undertaking, and the earth that shook beneath the Glades. His name hasn’t been released but Oliver reads between the lines. It’s speculated that he was homeless, and living almost directly above the device that actually activated. Though most of the Glades remains structurally intact, that portion had collapsed into the tunnel beneath it, killing the only person nearby.

It could have been far, far worse.

“And how long have you been here?”

Oliver glances at the time in the corner of the computer screen, then turns to face Diggle, who evidently picked up Felicity on his way in. “You’re early.”

“Please tell me you at least got some sleep.”

“I got some sleep,” Oliver says obediently. Diggle raises his eyebrows as Felicity rolls her eyes. “I got some sleep,” Oliver repeats more sincerely. “You?”

Diggle winces in remembrance of pain, reaching up to press down on his injury. “I slept,” he admits, “wouldn’t say I slept well though.”

“Well I didn’t sleep well either,” Felicity says, putting down her purse and shooing Oliver out of the computer chair. “I couldn’t stop thinking about what would have happened if Superman hadn’t shown up.”

If Oliver’s blaming himself for not knowing about the second device, then surely Felicity and Diggle are as well. He steps back and watches Felicity get comfortable with her computers.

“It’s not your fault we didn’t know about the second device.”

Felicity glances up at him. “I was the one who had all the information about it, who figured out where it was initially stored – I could’ve, there could’ve been some clue–”

“Felicity.” Oliver cuts her off. “It’s wasn’t your fault.”

“Well it wasn’t yours either,” she replies strongly, glancing between the two of them. “Either of you.”

Silence, for a brief moment. They all blame themselves for not doing better.

“What are we even doing here?” Felicity asks, sifting through the articles Oliver had been looking at.

She has a point there. They’d all just assumed they’d meet up the next day and regroup, continue their work – it is habit, and a comforting one at that, Oliver is startled to realize, but the Undertaking is over. Even Oliver can admit that he can’t hit the streets right now, and with Diggle’s injury as well, there’s no way he’s sending the man out in his place. He and Diggle exchange glances.

It feels right, to be here with them in the foundry, but Oliver needs to visit his mother, to try and talk to Tommy. There’s nothing the Arrow needs to do, at the moment.

“Right, well shoo then.” Felicity stands, waving them toward the exit. “Both of you need to heal and _rest,_ ” she says strongly. “Come back in a week.”

Oliver knows she would normally request they wait longer but Felicity’s not a doctor and she’s catching on to how stubborn he is. A week is about the end of his limit.

He and Diggle exchange amused glances this time, but they obediently make their way up the stairs and out of the basement.

“Where to next?” Diggle asks.

Oliver shoots him a questioning glance.

“Hey, I’m still your bodyguard.”

“You’re injured. I think that gives you a few days off. Be with your family Digg.” While Oliver’s attempts at dating haven’t gone so well, Diggle’s been trying things out with his ex-sister-in-law and, as far as Oliver knows, they’re doing alright.

But Diggle shakes his head. “Nah man, they left town this morning – vacation. They don’t live in the Glades but I thought it might be best if they got out of Star City for a while.”

Oliver doesn’t blame them, but he still glances over at Diggle as they exit Verdant onto the street. “You could have gone with them.”

Digg shrugs.

It says that he knows he could have, that he thought about it, but that he’d decided to stay. Oliver feels… gratified… by Diggle’s decision. It’s another emotion he’s realizing he’s going to have to get used to, working with Diggle and Felicity.

He considers Digg’s original question – should he try and visit his mother now, or Tommy? His mother’s going to be in prison for a while, at the very least until the trial, even if she gets off. Tommy only gets one moment to learn the truth about his father’s death. The earlier the better.

“Laurel’s,” he says, opening his own door (still the backseat though) as they reach the car. “Tommy should be there.”

Diggle nods solemnly, then slips into the car after Oliver. The car ride is silent, which Oliver appreciates. He’s going through words and scenarios in his head, picturing how things are going to go. Worst case scenario: Tommy hates him and outs his identity to the world. Best case scenario: … Oliver doesn’t know. Tommy stays his friend? How could he, after what Oliver had done? Tommy keeps his secret? Is that really the best he can hope for?

Diggle parks on the street outside Laurel’s apartment building and the two of them sit in silence for a moment longer. “I’ll wait here,” Diggle finally says.

Oliver nods, hesitates a moment more, then opens his door and slips out. There are reporters camped out at the front, held off by the SCPD (word must have gotten out that Tommy Merlyn was living here, and Lance must have decided that his daughter and her boyfriend needed protection) so Diggle had parked around back, enabling Oliver to slip in without anyone noticing.

He doesn’t pause again until he reaches Laurel’s door, remembers all the times he’d stopped in to see her after he’d returned. He still loves her, and she loves Tommy. But this visit isn’t about her. He hesitates, then knocks.

There are footsteps, lighter than Tommy’s so they must be Laurel’s, then a pause. No doubt she’s checking to see if he’s a reporter that somehow managed to slip through. She opens the door with a relieved expression.

“Ollie,” she says, smiling, if a bit sadly. “I thought about calling yesterday but it was late and I didn’t want to disturb you or Thea…”

There’s a question in her statement. “Thea’s fine too,” Oliver tells her. “I got hit by a little bit of debris at Verdant, but nothing to call the doctor about.” Oliver’s great at managing his pain, but it’s a good excuse for any accidental winces he might let slip. Just another lie.

Laurel opens the door wider. “Well come on in, Tommy and I had just ordered lunch. We’re trying to sort through all the files I grabbed from CNRI, trying to make sure we put everything back in its place.”

Oliver doesn’t move. “Actually, I came to talk to Tommy. Alone.”

Laurel only smiles sadly again. “That seems to be the theme these days, doesn’t it?”

He offers up his own apologetic smile, aware of how false the expression feels on his face even if Laurel isn’t. There’s not much to smile about, at the moment.

“Look, Ollie,” she says, lowering her voice. “I don’t know if you heard but Tommy’s dad…”

“I heard,” Oliver replies softly before she can finish.

Laurel studies his expression for a moment, then nods. “I’ll go get him.” She disappears back into the apartment.

She must have told Tommy who was at the door, because he approaches with a blank, stony expression on his face. His eyes are a little red around the edges, but Oliver can’t tell if that’s from lack of sleep or crying.

“What do you want?” Tommy’s voice is blank and emotionless – not even full of the hatred Oliver had been expecting.

“To tell you what happened,” Oliver offers, “if you want to hear it.”

Tommy wavers, as if he hadn’t been expecting Oliver to offer a chance to turn him down.

He could have done it anyway, Oliver thinks, but he hopes it’s different if he offers Tommy the chance.

“Alright,” Tommy steps forward, closing the door behind him, and Oliver moves to let him into the hallway. “Maybe you can explain why you _murdered_ my father after you stopped killing everyone else.”

There’s the harshness Oliver had been expecting. He doesn’t let himself react outwardly, instead beginning a slow walk down the hallway. Tommy trails behind him.

“Maybe somewhere with less ears,” is all he says, pressing the up button on the elevator. They step into it together as it opens and Oliver hits the top floor. “Like the roof.”

Tommy looks unimpressed. “You’re not Oliver,” he says, jabbing a finger into Oliver’s chest, “because my best friend isn’t nearly as paranoid as you and he actually smiles and laughs and relaxes once in a while. My _best friend_ is fun, and maybe a bit of a douche, but he has a good heart.” Tommy’s voice starts to choke up and Oliver can see unshed tears in his eyes. “My best friend doesn’t dress up in leather and put _arrows_ in people. _My best friend_ wouldn’t _murder_ my own father!”

Throughout Tommy’s rant Oliver remains stoic and silent. He knows perfectly well he’s not the Oliver Queen who left on the Queen’s Gambit and Tommy’s known it too, ever since he’d found out about the Arrow. Still, it’s not something one easily absorbs. (It still hurts, almost makes Oliver wish he’d never gotten on that boat. But if he’d never gotten on that boat no one would have stopped the Undertaking. Thousands would be dead, his mother would never have tried to back out, and Malcolm would have been free to enact his plan of remaking the Glades in his image. Tommy’s pain isn’t enough to make Oliver regret his actions. More than enough to blame himself, sure, to wonder all the ways he could have handled Malcolm differently, but not enough to regret who he’s become.)

The elevator opens onto the top floor and Oliver makes his way to the roof access without a word. After a moment’s pause, a deep breath, Tommy follows after him. By the time they climb the stairs to the roof, Tommy’s deflated somewhat. His expression is still furious, his eyes still wet with unshed tears, but he’s not attacking Oliver like before.

Unable to meet his friend’s gaze, Oliver looks over the city he just helped saved, stares at the Glades, not too far away. The May breeze is cooling, but the weather pleasant. There are few clouds in the sky and the sun shines brightly overhead. Oliver, as always, can’t help but compare the stale city air to that of Lian Yu. “Your father wasn’t who either of us thought he was,” he says simply. Sure, Tommy had helped them out after Oliver had returned from being kidnapped by Malcolm, but had anybody ever told Tommy what had happened? Oliver hadn’t, there’d been no time, and no need to burden his friend by telling him about the chains that had been so recently around his wrists.

“Duh,” Tommy spits out, scornfully. “I think I got that message when I found out he wanted to _level the Glades_.”

Oliver shakes his head. “No, there’s more.”

“More than my father being a wannabe-mass-murderer?”

“Do you remember the dark archer?” Oliver finally turns to look Tommy in the face. “Around Christmas time?”

Tommy raises an eyebrow, confused by the change in conversation. His brow furrows. “With the hostages? Yeah – the Green Arrow–” he freezes. “You were in that motorcycle accident.”

Oliver nods. “Your father was the dark archer. He almost beat me again this time – I couldn’t let him detonate the device.” He needs Tommy to understand – Malcolm hadn’t just been a businessman he’d decided to put an arrow in, he’d been a ruthless killer that Oliver had barely beaten.

Tommy takes a step back, staring at Oliver in shock. He shakes his head in denial. “My father…?”

“Wherever Malcolm went those two years he was away, whoever he went to, they taught him how to fight,” Oliver says firmly. He can’t let Tommy deny the truth of what happened, as much as he wants to spare him from it.

Tommy only seems capable of staring at Oliver in shock.

“There’s a reason he moved up the timetable to last night,” Oliver continues. “I went to… to threaten him yesterday. He caught me by surprise and beat me again.” Oliver doesn’t mention being stripped bare and strung up, doesn’t tell Tommy about his father stalking about him, bragging about his plan. “It was after I escaped that he called my mother to let her know that the Undertaking would be that night.”

Still Tommy stares. That’s fine – Oliver will wait as long as Tommy needs him to.

Around and below them, cars whizz by in the busy city. Oliver can hear the reporters at the building’s front from up here, chattering amongst themselves as they wait for Tommy to emerge – since they can’t come in themselves. The sun disappears behind a small cloud for a moment, then peaks out again.

Tommy shakes his head in disbelief. “He wasn’t just a wannabe-mass-murder,” he says weakly. His anger seems to have deflated entirely, all his energy gone at the news. “He’s – was – a murderer.”

Oliver doesn’t react, gives Tommy time to process his own thoughts.

Finally, Tommy glances over at Oliver and meets his gaze. “If you hadn’t… He would have killed you.”

Oliver remembers Malcolm’s arm around his throat, the older man bragging about how Thea and his mother would soon join him in death. The pain in his shoulder is hot and throbbing – he’d patched himself up better than his initial bandaging, but it’ll be a while before he can move his left arm without the reminder of how he’d killed Malcolm.

Tommy’s statement isn’t a question, so Oliver doesn’t bother to reply, but Tommy reads the answer in his face. He takes a step back, shakes his head again.

“I… I need…” He doesn’t seem to know what to say.

Oliver understands. He nods. “You can have as long as you need.” He pauses a moment longer, evaluates whether or not he thinks Tommy will be okay, then leaves.

He doesn’t stop by Laurel’s apartment on the way down, simply slips out the back and makes his way to Diggle. True to his word, the bodyguard hasn’t moved. Oliver sits in the backseat again and Diggle allows him a moment before he speaks.

“Police station?” he asks, though it’s clear he already knows the answer.

Meeting Diggle’s gaze in the rearview mirror, Oliver nods.

* * *

Diggle comes with him into the police station and stands silently by his side, playing his bodyguard rather than his friend. He’s there as Oliver discusses his mother’s case and speaks with her lawyer, but Oliver asks to be alone when he visits his mother and Diggle – after holding his gaze for a moment – nods and waits outside.

Moira Queen straightens when Oliver enters, relief clear on her face. “Oliver,” she breathes out, leaning forward across the table. “No one would tell me what had happened… Thea?”

“She’s fine,” Oliver says, carefully taking the seat across from his mother. “Superman and the Green Arrow were able to stop the earthquake devices from detonating.”

Moira shakes her head desperately, even as she grins. She looks so, so relieved and, despite what this woman has done, Oliver can’t forget that this is his mother. This is Thea’s mother.

“Thea, she… she left,” Moira continues shakily. “Her friend, in the Glades…”

“Roy,” Oliver clarifies. “He’s fine too. He made sure Thea made it back safely.”

“Oh, thank god,” Moira says, deflating considerably.

She looks nothing like the refined and proper woman that Oliver’s always known her to be. She’s wearing the same clothes as yesterday and she looks haggard, like she’s made herself sick with worry. She’d claimed to have participated in the Undertaking to protect them but, in the end, both Oliver and Thea had been in the Glades and could have easily lost their lives. Oliver thinks she finally understands that.

“I talked to your lawyer,” he starts.

Moira waves him off, straightening in her seat and smoothing out her blouse. She already looks better, now that she knows her children are safe. She was still willing to go along with the murder of thousands of people.

“Oliver no,” she says. “My lawyer can handle my case. You worry about you and Thea.”

But Oliver doesn’t know what to say to her, if they’re not talking logistics. He can understand her motivations but he can’t excuse them. But she’s his mother, and it had been his father who’d gotten her into the Undertaking. And it had been Malcolm’s idea alone. What can he say to her?

Still stiff, he nods, then stands. “Alright then. I’ll… I’ll visit you later.” He looks to the camera, signaling his intent to leave.

“Oliver…” but Moira doesn’t protest, or stand herself. She just watches him leave sadly, alone.

* * *

After talking with his mother, Oliver himself needs some alone time. He gives Diggle the rest of the day off and heads for his secondary base. It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours, and his shoulder still aches, but Oliver wants to pick up a bow and fire at his targets until there’s nothing else in his mind. Instead he heads Felicity’s warning and actually gives his body a rest for once. He puts his back against one of the columns in the middle of the room, sinks to the floor, and wonders where they go from here.

* * *

* * *

_May 15, 2013:_

_Not Today_ by Clark Kent

_A hero exists inside each one of us. They emerge in the small moments: when we hug a friend that’s having a bad day, cook a favorite meal for a spouse that’s having a bad week, or pay the fare for a frazzled stranger on the bus._

_Heroes exist among us too: the police officer who patrols our block, the teenager who just finished their first lifeguarding class, the nurse who works full shifts and goes home to take care of their family._

_These kinds of heroes are known as everyday heroes – the kind of people who make a decision each and every day to stand up to injustice and help those who need it. Each of us has the potential inside us to be one of them. Each of us has been one of them, at one moment or another, even if we never realized it at the time._

_There are other kinds of heroes too: the ones who put on capes and costumes, who stand between victims and perpetrators without any chance or recognition or reward. I’d argue that they’re the same as us. That, each day, they stand up and say: Not today._

_Earlier this week, a terrorist tried to destroy an entire portion of Star City, California – located on the western coast of the United States – using manmade earthquakes devices placed at strategic locations underground. Four people, four individuals, have largely been credited with stopping him._

_The first, and perhaps most well-known, is Superman. Appearing in the nick of time, Superman found the second device just after it activated, stopping it from causing more damage than it did. Superman is known as Metropolis’ hero, but he’s also known for traveling the world to wherever needs his help. He doesn’t discriminate by border. If there’s a cry for help in the world, it’s said that Superman can hear it, and he certainly answered the cries in Star City. Every day he listens and stands up and says: Not today._

_But Superman’s contribution would not have happened if not for the efforts of one of the other individuals credited with saving Star City. Moira Queen, one of the conspirators, had already lost her husband to Malcolm Merlyn’s machinations. She was afraid for her children. Yet she revealed the conspiracy despite her fears, saving hundreds if not thousands of lives by alerting people to evacuate – and giving Superman a chance to learn of the disaster to come early. She looked at her actions and decided: Not anymore. Not today._

_Still, while Moira Queen and Superman unknowingly worked together to stop one of the earthquake devices, known as Markov devices, there was another pair who teamed up to stop the first. A detective in Star City’s police department, who has so far remained anonymous, managed to locate and disable one of the devices. Their job is to stand up for the citizens of their city, to uphold the law. Every day they pick up their badge and gun and say: Not today. Not in my city._

_The fourth individual is the one who led the detective to the device, who fought with Malcolm Merlyn to ensure that neither of the devices was detonated early. Star City’s own Green Arrow. His actions remain controversial, but there’s no denying that, without his efforts, hundreds could have been killed. There’s no denying that he chooses each day to put on a hood and help what he has claimed as his city._

_Each one of these people has chosen to take their stand, to draw a line and say: I will not let this happen. Not today, not on my watch. Each of us has the capacity to do the same. The attack was stopped in time by people some would call heroes. But a hero exists in each one of us, and there are still people like Malcolm Merlyn in the world._

_Help your neighbor. Be kind. Be a hero. Stand up for what’s right and decide: Not today._

* * *

* * *

_May 16, 2013, evening:_

Despite Felicity’s week-long ban on entering the field, it feels weird not to be hanging out, just the three of them. They meet up Thursday evening, after Felicity gets done with work, and head for Big Belly Burger. Carly’s still out of town, but they get their usual booth and make small talk about the city as they order their food.

“Did you guys see the special edition of the Daily Planet?” Diggle asks as they get their food. “They’re calling Malcolm a terrorist.”

Oliver nods. “I read it.” Most of the shortened weekday edition had been about the events in Star City – the Green Arrow and Superman against Malcolm Merlyn and man-made earthquakes, but he’d also looked at the other articles. There had been one which had been stylized as a debate, arguing about Malcolm’s death and whether or not the Green Arrow had been justified in killing him. Another about the relief efforts and charitable donations happening in the Undertaking’s wake, despite that it had been stopped. One article had talked about the history of the Glades, and how the Undertaking wouldn’t have gotten nearly as far as it had if Star City had actually noticed or cared about the people who live there. (Of course, none of the articles actually called it the Undertaking). Yet another had just been a small puff piece about the four people who’d helped stop the Undertaking (at least, the four people the world knew about) and what it meant to be a hero.

“I saw a CatCo magazine that talked about the Green Arrow too,” Felicity chimes in. She turns and pulls it out of her purse on the bench beside her.

“That seems to be all the country is talking about,” Diggle comments dryly. Of course, the Star City Register had discussed it as well.

Oliver pictures the title of the debate article about him in the Daily Planet: Green Arrow – Hero or Murderer? Personally, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever believe the answer is the first, but he still hopes it’s not the second. He _is_ trying to do better.

Felicity reaches over the table and hands him the magazine. Oliver flips through it, skimming the titles: _Ten Tips to Eat Healthier and Lose Weight_ ; _Boy Wonder: The first exclusive interview with the new heir to the Wayne fortune_ ; _National City’s Tenth Annual Fashion Show_ ; _A Day in the Life of the First Gentleman_ . He pauses at the next article: _Society’s Superheroes_.

Below the title is a large picture of him that fills half the page. It’s mostly a silhouette, his face turned away and only the hood visible, but it is a genuine picture, not an artist’s rendering, even if it’s dark and shrouded in shadow.

“It’s mostly about costumes but,” Felicity shrugs, “I thought it was interesting.”

Oliver skims through it. There’s talk about him, sure, and Superman, but there’s much more than that. The first two pages are on the Green Arrow, though half of the first page is his image. The third page covers Superman, a full profile running in a narrow column from top to bottom alongside the actual words. Next comes an entire two-page section on the Justice Society of America, a group that functioned during World War II and after, until they’d fizzled out sometime in the early eighties. There are smaller pictures of their uniforms interspersed between the paragraphs.

The next two pages talk about Batman, the elusive hero of Gotham City – if he even exists. There are no pictures of him, just several artist renderings of dark costumes with black capes and pointed ears. The final page doesn’t have any pictures and, as far as Oliver can tell from simply skimming it, talks about rumors of other modern or more recent heroes (and what they might be wearing – a solid gold helmet; a black suit, with neon blue and yellow lightning…).

He glances up from the magazine to look at Felicity. “I’ll check it out,” he promises, handing the magazine to Diggle so he can look through it. “What is Star City saying though?”

Felicity shrugs as Diggle flips through the CatCo magazine. “People are paying more attention to the Glades now, but to be honest not much has changed. More charitable donations, sure, and the police presence is higher but–”

“But that won’t make the people of the Glades feel better,” Diggle finishes for her, setting down the magazine.

“They’re just going to be more resentful – like the city doesn’t trust them,” Oliver agrees.

Felicity levels a stern look at him. “Ah ah,” she says quickly. “I said a week and I’m not backing down on that.”

Oliver feels like he would be a bit too similar to a petulant kid who can’t get what he wants if he complains in any way (a bit too similar to his old self). “The city needs someone,” he says instead.

She leans over the table and pokes him slightly in the shoulder, eliciting a wince from him. “And what can the Green Arrow do besides stop crime as it happens?” she asks skeptically. “Maybe it’s time Oliver Queen helped out.”

“I don’t think the people of the Glades want anything to do with the Queen family at the moment,” Oliver says.

“I hate to agree but I don’t think they want Oliver’s help,” Diggle chimes in reluctantly.

Felicity rolls her eyes. “You people have no idea what I’m talking about do you? I’m talking food drives, city clean-up, a place to sleep for people whose houses got broken into or cracked in the tremors. People are scared and desperate. Sure, there’s a lot more crime now that the Green Arrow could help stop, but the people need help in other ways too.”

Oliver and Diggle exchange glances. Oliver had come back to be the Arrow and now he’s staying the Arrow to fight the crime in Star City, but Felicity’s right – Oliver Queen had returned home too, maybe it’s time he steps up.

“Related to that,” he says, “I need to figure out what to do about Queen Consolidated. The company’s image…” Well, he doesn’t need to say anything more than that.

Diggle understands where he’s going. “So a company sponsored fundraiser, or food drive?” he suggests. “But Oliver, with your mother out of the picture someone’s going to need to step up and run Queen Consolidated.”

Oliver shakes his head. “Don’t look at me, I still know nothing about running a business.”

“But they already are looking to you,” Felicity says. “Well, some of them. There’s been talk at the company, at least. Talks about being bought out too, but if you – or someone else – can, well, fix things relatively soon…”

“Then maybe we can recover some of the fallen stock price,” Oliver agrees. “I was thinking about talking to Walter – he knows the board best.”

Felicity nods and starts to give her inside scoop on the situation at Queen Consolidated. As they finish their food they discuss business and financials – who should run the company and how best to approach the board. Oliver doesn’t want to lose his family’s company, but he doesn’t want to run it either. He’s got things to do as the Arrow and, apparently, Oliver Queen.

Twenty minutes later, their plates empty, Oliver’s phone interrupts the conversation as it rings. He pulls it out of his pocket and glances at the display. Laurel.

“I gotta take this,” he tells his two friends as he answers the phone.

“Laurel. How’s CNRI?”

“ _Everything’s fine, I actually called you to talk about Tommy_ ,” Laurel says, wasting no time on greetings.

“Is everything alright?” Oliver asks. (Diggle and Felicity look a bit concerned so Oliver mouths _Tommy_ at them while Laurel responds).

“ _Sort of._   _I mean, ever since you talked to him I think he’s doing better but he still won’t leave the apartment._ ”

“It’s only been a couple days Laurel,” Oliver says gently. He hesitates. “Thea still refuses to talk about our mom.”

“ _I know, I just, wanted to make sure you still wanted to go to that Rockets game on the twenty-fifth. I think we could both use the break_.”

In all the chaos, Oliver’d completely forgotten about that, but he still has the tickets. “The twenty-fifth?” he repeats, realization dawning on Felicity’s and Diggle’s faces. “Yeah, we’re still good for then.” He pauses, thinking back to the conversation he’d just had. “Actually, a friend had an idea that might get Tommy out of the house before then. How do you feel about hosting a free dinner in Verdant for the Glades?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Four things:  
> 1\. I have to offer an apology - for some reason I had the date listed as the 15th on the first section of this chapter, when it should have been the 13th, so you should have gotten this two days ago... Hopefully the length more than makes up for the wait!  
> 2\. Chapter 11: Pushing Forward, will be posted May 18th. I might not have internet for a good portion of the day though, so it might not be until late.  
> 3\. I am not, and never have been, a journalist in any way shape or form. I do not know how to write news articles. I assure you, Clark Kent's writing is usually much better than I can portray. Sorry about that.  
> 4\. I have started a sequel to this work, and, as of right now, still plan to continue this for as long as I can (we'll see how that works out). We have firmly moved into AU territory, so most of the scenes I'm writing so far are no longer just edited versions of canon. Hopefully I can continue being interesting. (Also, there are still some canon plots that aren't affected by the changes I've made, so I hope to incorporate those as well.)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	12. Pushing Forward

_May 18, 2013:_

Laurel pulls into the back, employee parking lot at Verdant, slipping her old car between the modern black car that Oliver’s bodyguard uses to drive him around in and a small green Bug. The parking lot is fairly empty, but there are a few other cars, no doubt chefs or caterers who also came early. She glances over at Tommy, who still looks out of it, like he can’t completely focus on the moment, instead dwelling on the past and his father’s actions and subsequent death by the Green Arrow.

Laurel doesn’t know how to feel about the hero (vigilante?) either – she hasn’t seen him in a while and he’d stopped killing and saved the Glades, only to kill Malcolm Merlyn. She likes to think it was self-defense, but how can she ever really know?

“C’mon,” she says gently, elbowing Tommy as she turns her car off and takes the keys out of the ignition. “Thought you said you were up for this.”

Tommy blinks, then looks over at her. He frowns slightly in confusion, which quickly clears up as he looks around. “Right,” he says, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Do you really think anyone else will be though?”

They’ve had this discussion many times before. “Tommy,” Laurel says, reaching over to grab his hand. “You’re a good man, and you’re not your father. Anyone can see that. People will show.”

He offers her a small smile, uncertain though it might be, and they separate to open their doors and step out of the car. Laurel locks it behind her, then meets Tommy at the back of the car and grabs his hand again. He actually looks like he’s looking forward to this, which is the first time she’s seen that look on him since the policeman knocked on her door. She hopes Oliver’s friend will be here, the one who suggested the idea of a food drive – getting out of the apartment already seems to have helped and she needs someone to thank.

They head into Verdant and take in the scene. The club still looks as it normally does, but it’s only one in the afternoon – they’d gotten word out that food would start being served at five, people could be seated at four thirty. There’s plenty of time to get things ready. Oliver, his bodyguard, Thea, her boyfriend, and a blonde woman are standing in front of the bar, talking. Oliver gestures slightly toward the front door as he talks (he’s so reserved in his emotions these days, so stiff and unreactive and completely different from the Oliver she’d known before) and his bodyguard nods and says something in response. Laurel and Tommy make their way over there.

Tommy stiffens up slightly as they approach, which Laurel just knows has something to do with the talk Oliver had with him a few days ago, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Hey guys,” she says easily as she approaches, letting go of Tommy’s hand to give Thea a hug. “Sorry I haven’t visited before now. I know this must be hard for you,” she says to the younger woman.

Thea hugs back tightly, then pulls away to give Laurel a slightly forced smile. “Don’t worry,” she says somewhat stiffly, “I haven’t been drowning my sorrows with drugs and alcohol again.”

Laurel forces her own smile at that in return but the comment really isn’t funny. Maybe today will do some good for Thea as well. As Tommy hugs Thea next, Laurel turns to Roy. “So, you’re the boyfriend,” she says, offering him a hand.

He takes it nervously, glancing over at Thea. “Yeah. Uh, Laurel Lance, right?”

She smirks.

“The one and only,” Tommy says for her, looking somewhat protective (of Thea, rather than her in this instance).

“Thea grew up around all of us,” Laurel says, gesturing between her and Tommy and Oliver. “So you don’t just have one older sibling to worry about.”

Roy looks around nervously before turning to Thea. “Oh well… um, I’m, I’m gonna go start moving tables.” He hurries off as Thea laughs lightly.

Next to Oliver, his bodyguard laughs too, then moves to shake both her and Tommy’s hands. “Thanks for coming,” he says to her and, “It’s good to see you again,” he says to Tommy. Laurel doesn’t really know much about Mr. Diggle (or just Diggle, as Tommy’s told her he prefers to be called) but he’d spent some time with Tommy when they’d gone to Gotham and Tommy likes him well enough.

They smile and give their own greetings back and then Diggle strides away to help Roy.

Finally, Oliver moves. “Thank you for coming,” he says warmly to the both of them. He gives Laurel a brief hug, then glances over at Tommy. Neither of them move, but Tommy offers his best friend a strained smile. Laurel glances between them and wonders once again what happened there.

Of the three children whose parents tried to level the Glades, Oliver seems the most well-adjusted – which is not an adjective Laurel ever thought she’d associate with him. Maybe, after the island, it takes a lot more to faze him. Or maybe it’s just because he’s the only one of the three who’s actually talked to said parent, from what Laurel’s heard. _(Or maybe he’s just better at hiding it_ , a dark voice whispers in the back of her mind. She remembers when Oliver had revealed he’d been tortured on the island – she’d never even suspected.)

Oliver only falters slightly before accepting the greeting and turning to the woman next to him.

“Hi,” she says brightly, waving nervously at the both of them. “I’m Oliver’s IT girl.” She blanches. “I mean, not _his_ IT girl. I work in IT. At Queen Consolidated. For Oliver.” She grimaces, then shakes her head. “Let me start over, I’m Felicity Smoak.”

Laurel laughs. “Nice to meet you Felicity.”

Tommy nods in agreement, and there’s a small smile on his face. A genuine one. Laurel’s own amused grin widens. (Off to the side, even Thea is grinning).

“Today was Felicity’s idea,” Oliver says warmly, turning back to her and Tommy. “She came up with quite a few ideas to help the Glades and prove to people that we are not our parents.”

Tommy’s grin falters slightly at that (as does Thea’s), but he also looks more determined. For the first time, he looks Oliver in the face. “What are you doing about Queen Consolidated?” he asks. “I think, I think my – Malcolm never changed his will. I think I just inherited an entire company.”

Oliver grimaces slightly in sympathy, and the two start to talk business. They’re stiff and informal, and keeping themselves apart, but they are talking.

Laurel exchanges glances with Thea and Felicity and the three girls separate themselves from the talk about Queen Consolidated and Merlyn Global.

“Thank you, Felicity,” Laurel says as they wander in the direction of the kitchen. “For doing this.”

Felicity blushes again, which she seems to do easily. “Oh, I just suggested a food drive,” she says easily. “It was really Oliver’s idea to actually host a dinner for the people of the Glades and he’s the one who thought to have you and Tommy help out.”

“Still, sometimes Oliver needs a bit of a push,” Laurel says warmly.

“Don’t I know it,” Felicity replies without thinking.

There’s a pause, then the three of them laugh. They reach the kitchen entrance and Laurel can’t help but wonder how well, exactly, Felicity knows Oliver. (But she’s with Tommy now, and she loves him. That’s none of her business.)

Laurel turns to Thea. “What can I do to help?”

Thea looks back the way they came. Roy and Diggle have already cleared some floor space and set up two tables.

“Well,” Thea says, turning back to the two of them, “while the boys set up the tables, why don’t we set the tables?”

“I’ll get the tablecloths, you can get the plates, and Laurel can get the silverware?” Felicity asks hesitantly.

Laurel and Thea nod in agreement and the three of them head into the busy kitchen to get what they need.

* * *

Three hours later it’s four o’clock and Laurel feels that sort of satisfied exhaustion that comes with doing good work. The club has been completely transformed: it’s usual dim lighting has been switched out so that everyone will be able to see easily; the tables, while admittedly cheap folding tables, are covered in thick white tablecloths and set with decent dishes and silverware – not plastic disposable cutlery; Verdant’s small kitchen has churned out most of what needs to be cooked, thanks to the many chefs at work, and all of the visible alcohol behind the bar has been put away.

The storeroom is locked, the line set up outside, the waiters and waitresses have started to arrive. They’re ready. Laurel sits down at a bar stool next to Felicity, who she hasn’t bumped into for the past half hour probably (she and Thea and Roy had been moving box after box of alcohol back into the storeroom and locking up behind them).

She sinks into the seat, breathing deeply at the pause.

“Right?” Felicity says in agreement, grinning tiredly at her. “I just had to fix a minor freak-out in the bathrooms.” She pauses. “Not that kind of freak-out,” she quickly corrects, even though Laurel’s tired mind hadn’t had the time to think about what she’d meant. “Just, I sent Diggle out to get some more toilet paper.” She sighs. “You would think that I’d get better at talking to people.”

Laurel laughs. Sure, Felicity had seemed nervous when they’d first met, but she’s starting to realize that babble is just Felicity’s default mode.

“Where did Oliver find you?” she asks.

“He had some laptop troubles.” Felicity shrugs. “Guess someone in IT recommended me.”

“Well he’s lucky to have met you. You pulled off a successful dinner event in two days’ time.”

“I wouldn’t call it successful just yet,” Felicity cautions, though she’s grinning. “Nobody’s here yet. Besides, Oliver got all the funding, Tommy figured out how to arrange anything, Thea picked the menu, and you got the word out. I barely had the idea.”

“Nothing happens without an idea,” Laurel comments, looking away from Felicity to glance around the club. It looks transformed – they really have done well.

Felicity shrugs modestly in response again. They sit in silence for a moment before the IT girl’s phone dings. She glances at it, then jumps off her seat. “Sorry, emergency in the kitchen,” she says, clearly about to hurry off. She pauses though, and takes a considering look at Laurel. “Want to help?”

Laurel feels tired, though the event hasn’t even started. She’s been working hard the past three hours, with old friends and new. She loves it. Sliding off her own stool, she meets Felicity’s questioning gaze with a grin. “I’d love to.”

* * *

Tommy doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to react to Oliver. They’ve been together during the afternoon and evening, but they’d talked about business then, and financials, and things that were not personal. (They haven’t mentioned his father once, haven’t mentioned the multiple times he’d tried to kill Oliver, or the time Oliver had succeeded in killing him.) But now they’ve finished a successful dinner/fundraiser, Diggle and Roy are finishing packing up the tables, Laurel, Felicity, and Thea are sitting on the bar stools laughing together, and he and Oliver are almost done putting away the chairs.

Each time they pass each other, Tommy can feel himself tense. What can he say to the killer of his father, his best friend, a serial killer, and the man who’d saved Star City? (The man his father kidnapped?) He can’t thank him for what he did, but he can’t condemn him for it either.

He adds the chair he’s carrying to the pile, then feels himself tense yet again as Oliver approaches with the last one. Oliver, at the very least, seems aware of the tension, because he only nods silently at Tommy then quickly walks away again.

Tommy had started the conversation about Merlyn Global earlier as a peace offering, and because Oliver was also dealing with the same problem, but now that he’s exhausted that topic of conversation he doesn’t know where to go from here. He eyes Oliver, who has gone to help Digg and Roy, then heads in the opposite direction, toward the others at the bar.

He thinks about throwing out a witty quip, about flirting with Laurel, about grinning widely and greeting them as he would have before, but… He just can’t muster up the effort that would take. Instead he walks around the side of the bar to stand behind it, facing the three women, and offers Laurel a small, warm smile.

“See,” she says, grinning back, “I told you people would come. Even if the hosts were Queens and Merlyns.”

“I think the free food helped,” he chimes back, but his smile doesn’t fade.

“Free food _always_ helps,” Felicity says, with enough emphasis that the rest of them laugh.

Before anything else can be said the front and side doors slam open, men pouring in from the outside. The first thing Tommy notices are the very, very large guns in their hands. The second thing he notices is that they’re pointed at him. At him and Laurel and Thea and Felicity, as well as Oliver, standing on his own in the middle of the room. (Where are Diggle and Roy? Did they duck behind the tables?) The third thing he notices are the ski masks – that’s a good thing, right? That they’re concealing their identity?

His hands are in the air before he even realizes what he’s doing and he glances across the room to lock eyes with Oliver. His friend has changed completely and the way he stands reminds Tommy of when Oliver first came home. He’s stiff and tense, expression a blank slate except for a hard determination in his eyes.

Oliver, too, has raised his hands, palms outward, but even now his gestures are subdued: he keeps his hands only slightly above waist level. The fire in his eyes fades out slightly – but Tommy still knows Oliver well enough to know it’s not really gone, just masked.

Somehow, perhaps without even realizing it themselves, the masked men seem to sense the danger Oliver presents (or maybe he’s just their target). Two men focus their guns on him, a third points his (or hers, it’s difficult to tell) straight at Tommy and the girls. A fourth person stands at the front entrance, gun pointed down but finger near the trigger.

The fifth man stands loosely between them and Oliver, holding his gun carelessly in two hands as it hangs from a strap around his neck.

“Well, what have we got here?” he asks. The ski mask hides his expression, but Tommy can hear the sneer in his words. “Think you rich boys can win back your favor by handing out free food? I’m afraid that’s not how it works in the Glades.”

Tommy’s heart beats even more wildly as his stomach sinks and he starts to sweat. He resists the urge to fidget. Great – this isn’t even a robbery, it’s a targeted attack on the children of those who tried to level the Glades.

He glances over at Oliver again, willing his friend to do something, though he doesn’t know what Oliver could do in this situation. As it is, Oliver might as well be made of stone. He hasn’t even twitched.

“What, not going to try and buy me off too?” the leader continues mockingly. “Too scared to beg for your lives?”

Yes, yes that would be accurate. Tommy’s mouth is dry, and he can’t think of anything to say even if he did want to speak up.

Laurel shifts minutely though and Tommy wants to reach out and grab her because he just knows that means she’s gathering the courage to speak but, with the gun pointed directly at him rather than the three women across the bar, he doesn’t dare move.

Luckily, Oliver gets there first. He shifts his weight from one foot to another, lowers his hands so they hang loosely by his sides, and manages to draw all attention to him. Alone, stranded in the middle of the room, surrounded by enemies, all eyes turn toward Oliver.

“What do you want?” Oliver asks as he moves, somehow managing to keep his voice light and even with just a touch of scorn.

Laurel stops short; Tommy can hear Thea’s breath hitch. He wonders what Felicity thinks of all this, as the only other person who has the slightest idea of what Oliver’s capable of.

The leader turns toward him. “What do I want?” he repeats scornfully. “I want this city to wake up! The Glades were almost leveled by your parents and what does the city do? They ignore us! Maybe if some of their own go missing they’ll actually pay attention.”

Oliver takes a small step forward, keeping the attention on him. The two men with their guns pointed at him shift as well, tightening their grips, and even the man focused on Tommy turns to study Oliver better. “Kidnapping us won’t get you what you want,” Oliver says, voice low.

The man responds by taking a long step forward and punching Oliver in the face. Tommy expects Oliver to react, to at least move out of the way or something if he’s not going to fight back, but he doesn’t. The fist hits him right in the jaw and he spins with the force of it, stumbling back and falling to one knee.

Thea lets out a strangled gasp, Laurel leans forward slightly, and Tommy can see Felicity clench her fists in her lap. Tommy can’t look away from Oliver, doesn’t try and lower his hands.

He has to trust that Oliver has a plan, a way to get them out of this – Oliver must have wanted the attention on him for a reason.

Suddenly a figure surges up from beside him, behind the man who has a gun pointed at him. It’s Diggle and he clamps a hand over the man’s mouth as Roy appears to wrestle the gun away from his hands.

The man flails but while Diggle’s right hand keeps a tight grip over his mouth, his left has pulled the man’s own left arm behind his back. His feet scuff on the ground as Diggle drags him behind the bar.

Tommy watches, wide eyed, and glances over toward Oliver in concern, but the other four gunmen are too focused on Oliver, down on one knee on the ground, to notice anything else. Presumably, that’s the way Oliver wants it, though Tommy doesn’t know how Oliver could have known what Diggle and Roy were planning.

“You think you’re tough?” the leader almost screams in Oliver’s face, oblivious to what’s going on behind him. “You think you can handle it just because you spent five years away from Mommy and Daddy’s money?”

Oliver’s expression tightens and he glares up at the man, but he doesn’t move. There’s still four gunmen, after all. Tommy finally lowers his hands, glancing over at the door. Make that three gunmen – Diggle must have grabbed the man at the door when no one was looking.

But that still leaves three heavily armed and angry men, all of them focused solely on Oliver. How is he going to get out of this one?

Next to him, Diggle silently gestures for them to stay put, then takes careful, silent footsteps toward Oliver, gun raised in the air. Oliver doesn’t react to his bodyguard’s presence, though he has to have seen him by now. Tommy doesn’t understand how Oliver can keep himself so _still_.

His own heart is pounding loudly and, now that he’s lowered his hands, they’re shaking as he rests them on the bar. A stray thought flits by – Oliver isn’t going to kill anyone, is he? – but Tommy immediately tosses it aside. Oliver hasn’t been killing lately ( _aside from my father_ , he thinks darkly – _he wanted Oliver dead_ , another unwanted part of his brain contributes) and, even if he was, he’s in a crowded room with witnesses and he hasn’t made a move yet.

Just as Diggle stands directly behind the leader, gun pointed at the man’s head, the doors burst open again.

“SCPD! Lower your guns!”

In all the chaos, Tommy can’t tell where the shout came from but he’s never been more grateful to the SCPD in his life. Of course. With all the vigilante business, with everything Oliver has done lately and the secrets Tommy’s been keeping he hadn’t even thought… but of course. Of course Diggle called the police as soon as he’d had the opportunity.

The masked gunmen glance around wildly for a moment – it doesn’t take them long to realize they’re the only three left and that they are utterly and completely surrounded. The two henchpeople surrender almost immediately but the leader doesn’t seem so inclined to give up. He shifts minutely, swinging his gun in Oliver’s general direction without even having a proper grip on it, but stops as he feels Diggle’s pistol digging into his back.

A moment passes, a pause as the SCPD swarm the men and Oliver stands from his spot on the floor. With the adrenaline fading, Tommy loses track of time. Later, he’ll only remember snippets of what happened after. Thea running from the bar towards her brother. Felicity following much more calmly, but still a bit rushed, with a backwards glance at him and Laurel. Laurel, reaching across the bar to grab his hand. Roy, trailing after Thea but holding back, not wanting to interrupt the hug she sweeps Oliver up in. Detective Lance, once they’re outside, rushing toward his daughter. Laurel, finally letting go of his hand as she lets her father hug her.

He doesn’t see Oliver again that night, but hugs Laurel tightly as they climb into bed together, wondering what he would do with himself if he ever lost her.

(Somewhere, deep in his own mind, his opinion of Oliver shifts ever so slightly in a way he isn’t immediately aware of. He’s seen Oliver in the suit before, watched the other man save his father’s life oh so long ago, but this was different. This was Oliver Queen drawing the attention of five heavily armed men, just to ensure that his friends and family survived. This was Oliver, not filled with murderous rage, as Tommy had sometimes wondered, but with tightly controlled fury and a quick intelligence. This was his best friend, saving their lives in such a way that no one would even ever know he had done so, that every action had been deliberate and calculated.

This was his best friend, letting himself take the hits so none of them would have to.)

* * *

* * *

_May 19, 2013, very early morning:_

The room is dark, with only a sliver of moonlight making its way through the window, but despite the hour, it’s not quiet. Not quite. The harsh breathing and slightly rustling of Oliver Queen shifting uncomfortably in his sleep would be enough to even catch the notice of someone in the hall outside the room, were anyone else awake at the time. With a pained gasp that breaks the stillness of the night even more, Oliver sits bolt upright.

At the moment unaware of his situation, Oliver braces himself for a hit even as he struggles to calm his breathing and focus his vision. Out and then in. Out and then in. Oliver blinks, then relaxes somewhat as he realizes where he is. He’s in the Queen Mansion, in his own bed, and there’s no one else around. (No threat he needs to protect himself from, or be wary of – no incoming danger that he needs to shy away from). Pulling off the one sheet he’s taken to using, Oliver turns and lets his bare feet hit the floor.

He notes the feeling of the plush carpet on his feet, lets his eyes scan the room, listens carefully to the sounds of the old building at night and the nocturnal creatures outside. He is here, this is real. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply once, his heart no longer racing. This is real.

Opening his eyes once more, Oliver takes calm, measured steps to the window and looks out on the silent grounds before him.

The nightmares have gotten worse since the Undertaking, his few sleeping hours mixed with old nightmares and new: the island; Hong Kong; the Glades destroyed; his family and friends, past and present, dead; Oliver, strung up before Slade, before Malcolm, the Bratva, Fyers, even ARGUS, dangling and helpless. Once, Tommy had even taken Malcolm’s place, never speaking, just silent and accusing. Oliver hadn’t gone back to sleep that night.

Oliver knows they’ll fade again, with time. They’re already starting to. He catches sleep when he can and deals with it when he can’t.

Even given what had happened at Verdant earlier, Oliver hadn’t expected tonight to be this bad. This is the third time he’s woken and he can already see a faint tinge of light to the sky that signals the dawn.

The attackers, kidnappers – whoever they were and whatever they had meant to do – had been untrained, sloppy, barely coordinated amateurs. Oliver reaches up lightly to feel his face where he let their ringleader punch him (another sign that this is real. He is home). Thanks to him moving with the punch, and the man’s poor attempt at violence, it’ll barely bruise. Their attempt at their own form of justice would have been laughable – but only if Oliver had been their only target.

Instead they’d gone after just about everybody in the world that Oliver cared about. Shifting his gaze from the window in front of him to his left wall, Oliver wonders how Thea is sleeping. Roy had come back with them to the mansion, but Oliver doubts they’d done much of anything besides sleep. Everyone but him and Diggle had seemed shaken by the events, and the two of them were trained, simply holding back their reactions at the time. Obviously, Oliver had been more affected than he’d thought.

Sleep is hopeless at the moment and Oliver is tired (mentally speaking) of finally falling asleep only to wake an hour later from a nightmare. He changes quickly, keeps his feet bare, and shimmies down the tree outside his window to go for a run around the grounds. He could easily just slip out one of the doors on the ground floor – there aren’t too many employees left in the Queens’ employ these days – but he wants the physical challenge, wants the reminders of nature away from the distractions of the city. He has nightmares about the island, but really only about the people who’d been stuck there with him. The island itself, the months he spent there in peace (those few calm months when it had just been him and Slade and Shado), doesn’t bother him.

Being outside does him good and by the time Oliver returns to the mansion – after the sun has made its way above the horizon – he feels refreshed in a way that sleep hadn’t managed to accomplish for him that night. Thea and Roy are still sleeping, and Raisa doesn’t seem to be in yet either, so Oliver returns to his room and thinks about where he goes from here.

* * *

* * *

_May 21, 2013, early afternoon:_

“No offers yet, but there are definitely interested parties: Stellmoor International, Alva Industries – a lot of people seem to think that a buy-out’s the only way to settle things.”

“I’m not selling my father’s company,” Oliver says, not for the first time.

The pale business executive takes his words with a grim face and a single nod. “You may not have a choice Mr. Queen,” he says.

“What about a new face?” Oliver asks. “Rebranding the company? Rebuilding it from a different perspective?”

“Are you offering?” A different businessman speaks. He looks slightly disgusted and clearly doesn’t think much of Oliver.

Two men further down the table exchange unhappy glances at the idea. Looking around at the disapproving faces, all too similar to one another, Oliver is reminded of why, even before the island, he’d never wanted to go into business. They’re a bunch of stuffy old white men, stuck in their ways and convinced they know best. Each of their faces look like the next, but even so, Oliver has memorized each of their names, done his research on their backgrounds.

(He’s also planned ten emergency routes out of Queen Consolidated, memorized the security detail’s routes, and knows each ground floor exit. This floor is quiet, perks of being an executive, but tense as he is his senses are on high alert. He can hear the chatter outside their conference room. Sunlight streams into the room from the office that had once been Walter’s, then his mother’s. His gaze flickers over the motes of dust in the room as they float through the sun’s rays and he remembers crashing through that window. Remembers the fiery burn of a gunshot wound inflicted on him by his mother. Remembers dragging himself into Felicity’s car, bleeding and not sure he would make it but determined that he had to.

(Remembers sneaking in, under orders from ARGUS and forced to conceal himself.)

Diggle stands behind him, a constant presence. Felicity is several floors down; no doubt already having finished her work for the day.

Oliver knows each one of these men – knows their indiscretions and awards, knows what they think of him. He knows this building far better than they ever will, knows this city. Knows _people_ , in general, far better than these men think they do.

They do not scare him.)

Oliver straightens, and squares his gaze firmly on the man who spoke. “No, Mr. Pritchard, I do not intend to take over this company either.” But Oliver Queen is a billionaire playboy, an arrogant spoiled man despite the five years he spent in hardship – he does not threaten or intimidate. Oliver lets his gaze soften, relaxes his shoulders slightly as though Pritchard’s words only incited a temporary anger in him. “I dropped out of business school, remember?” his tone is lighter, but not joking. Not meant to be a joke or invite laughter, just a reminder that he knows who he is, with just enough weight behind it to show them this is serious and he’s not here just to make a show.

(But it _is_ a show – just a puzzle, a chess match with careful moves. Oliver doesn’t play chess, but he’s played people before. A relaxed but firm body language, the right tone here, a compromise there. These men aren’t seeing Oliver – only Mr. Queen, son of Moira Queen, attempting to make up for his mother’s mistakes and keep a hold on his family’s legacy without getting too involved – without putting in too much work. He’s serious in keeping the company, but only long enough to hand it off to someone else who can improve its image for him.)

“No buy-outs,” he continues. “No, no Stellmoor International or Alva Industries or anyone else who’s interested. I want you to put together a list of candidates to become Queen Consolidated’s new CEO. Someone young, with vision. And someone personable, who can get other people interested.”

Several members of the board exchange looks again, but this time they look vaguely interested. Contemplative, at the very least.

“I’d also like access to all employee files,” Oliver adds.

“Mr. Queen–”

“I’m not interested in your jobs,” Oliver says before Thompson can speak. “I just…” he pauses, let’s a bit of vulnerability show. He’d just found out his mother had tarnished his family’s legacy by almost committing mass murder. Oliver Queen isn’t sure where to go from there. He’s soft and unexperienced and uncertain. “I just want to see where our company stands. Who’s working here,” he finishes, keeping his tone soft.

(It’s difficult, to put on a show for these men. To prance about and act and fake his way through a smile when there are important things to be done. If Oliver had still been pursuing his mission, still working toward stopping the Undertaking, he wouldn’t have been able to do so. As it is, it grates on him.)

Hesitant silence, then: “I think we can do that for you Mr. Queen.” Thompson stands and extends his hand toward Oliver.

He takes that as his cue, stands with the rest of the board, and takes the man’s hand. (He already knows Thompson doesn’t have any concealed weapons. None of the board does. Not that he’d thought they would.)

* * *

Diggle stares at him strangely during the elevator ride to the parking garage, but Oliver doesn’t speak until they’re both in the relative safety of his vehicle.

“What?” he asks, not harshly.

“It’s just… I’ve seen you put on an act before but. Well, you’re usually just being a jerk then.”

Oliver thinks back to the beginning of their partnership, before Diggle had agreed to join. “You said once that I wasn’t a soldier,” he says calmly. “You were right. I was never a soldier. I suppose I was more of a… an agent.” He’d done undercover work, infiltrated secure locations. Tortured operatives from the opposing side.

It’s a part of his history, a small piece of his recent past, and Diggle recognizes it for what it is. Silence falls for a good few minutes as Diggle drives the car in and out of traffic.

“Oliver…” Diggle seems to be searching for words. “I didn’t know you back then. Really know you.” He meets Oliver’s gaze in the rearview mirror.

Oliver recognizes the apology for what it is. He’d never really blamed Diggle, even though at the time he’d felt anger that the man hadn’t understood the importance of his mission.

He only nods silently in response. For the two of them, it’s enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll wrap up this story in a couple days, on May 22nd, with Chapter 12: The Green Arrow. Thanks so much for reading!


	13. The Green Arrow

_May 22, 2013, night:_

Oliver and Diggle have strict instructions from Felicity, who seems far too excited, not to enter the basement until she gets there. Oliver’s having trouble listening. He’s waited his week and, though some injuries still linger, he’s ready to go out in the field. Or perhaps a better statement is that he’s itching to go back out.

He’s spent the past week cooped up indoors, “resting” his injuries, dealing with Thea and Tommy – neither of whom are handling things well, and worrying about Queen Consolidated as well as what was now Tommy’s company, Merlyn Global. Aside from other injuries such as last Christmas, it’s probably the longest time he’s been inactive in over five years.

His entire goal upon returning home had been to right his father’s wrongs – to use the list of names he’d been given and go after the people who were corrupting Star City. He’d never thought about an end to that – never allowed himself to think of it. (Oliver isn’t sure if that’s because he genuinely thought he wouldn’t get to the end because of death or imprisonment, or if he just couldn’t allow himself to hope for anything.) Now that the Undertaking’s over, Oliver’s lost even as he tries to manage his family and friends and the companies.

He hasn’t been sleeping well the past few days. Thea and Tommy barely manage to speak to him. He visited his mother once so far, but he hasn’t been able to bring himself to visit her again. At least Star City’s opinion of the Green Arrow is changing for the better.

He’d briefly entertained the idea of a romance, back when he’d thought the Undertaking was coming to an end, but Laurel is with Tommy now – and he’s not sure he wants to give up the hood. Because if he’s not the Green Arrow, then who is he? Oliver Queen has never been a good person. Before the island, he was a jerk and after the island… in all honesty Oliver Queen hadn’t existed since Lian Yu, not once Slade had trained him.

Since he’s been back, Oliver Queen hasn’t exactly won any hearts over either. Purposefully, sure, but he’s definitely not the kind of guy Oliver wants to be for the rest of his life. Frustrated and somewhat lost, Oliver needs the Green Arrow. Or, at the very least, he needs to pick up his bow and go a few rounds with some tennis balls.

Realizing he’s thinking in the third person, Oliver forces himself to relax somewhat. At least Verdant still isn’t open, he thinks, pacing back and forth by the bar. It’s back to its usual layout after their event on Thursday night (followed by the amateur kidnapping attempt that would have been laughable had Oliver’s friends and family not also been in danger) but with him and Tommy wrapped up in the details of their parent’s companies and clean-up efforts still ongoing in the Glades they’ve decided to keep Verdant closed for another week yet. There’s no one around to see his struggle. No one but Digg.

The man in question leans back against the bar, watching Oliver pace calmly. Aware of the eyes on him, Oliver stills himself and takes a deep breath. He really hopes Felicity hasn’t done anything like a welcome back cake or something. Loud surprises and celebrations do nothing more than unsettle him and he still hasn’t adjusted to eating sweet things.

On one hand, he thinks Felicity knows better. On the other, she can get rather excited at the small things (which is something Oliver will never admit he likes about her).

Finally, Felicity arrives. She seems to be brimming with barely suppressed enthusiasm, which only confirms that she has a surprise planned.

Oliver calms himself, stills his expression, and doesn’t let his apprehension show. He raises an eyebrow. “Can I go downstairs now?” he asks, infusing just the slightest bit of sarcasm into his tone.

Felicity doesn’t flinch. She grins, holding back her excitement, and gestures grandly for him to lead the way.

Oliver stands still for a moment, unimpressed, then makes his way to the locked door above the stairs. The lights are off downstairs but even so, Oliver can tell something is different. He makes his way to the lever that controls the lights easily, never mind the dark, and flips the switch.

The scene the light reveals is nothing like he expected. He’d thought maybe a minor celebration. A cake. A banner perhaps. He should have known better. Felicity’s only been helping for three months, but she knows him now and has been caught up in what they can do for the people of Star City.

Their headquarters have been redone, revamped, remade. Gone is the old equipment Oliver had thrown together in the beginning. He hadn’t cared about comfort then, only the mission. Now the place looks almost homey. Surfaces sparkle and gleam with new reflective silver metal. There’s a new rack for his (new) bow and quiver, a mannequin for his uniform. A mat sits on the floor past the (new) computers, perfect for sparring.

Oliver’s gaze travels the area, taking in everything.

“Felicity…” he doesn’t know what to say.

“I had some help,” she admits anxiously, wringing her hands as she steps past him into the open floor. “You only gave me a week so I asked Tommy to help move some of the bigger things but… You said we were going to do this different and I just thought–” she gestures around the room, “well a new environment can help sometimes, and we couldn’t exactly go somewhere else–”

“Felicity,” Oliver says again, interrupting her babbling. “It’s perfect.”

She blushes and her hands stop their nervous gesturing. “Really?”

Oliver steps forward and picks up the new bow that she got for him. Malcolm had broken his other one, and he’d only had the spare left. He’d already been making plans for a new bow, but it seems he doesn’t have to do that anymore. He tests the bowstring, then turns back to her.

“Really,” he confirms. He’s itching to put on the hood and test out his new bow, and he lets his enthusiasm show with a warm smile.

Felicity returns the grin.

“Well then,” Diggle says, looking quite impressed by the new setup, “let’s go catch some criminals.”

* * *

Though the call comes in as a simple attempted mugging – not something a detective would usually be called on immediately – it also comes with a code V for vigilante, and Quentin has suddenly been designated the go to person for such instances. It doesn’t matter that they’ve never been able to catch the Arrow before, that he isn’t usually there when they arrive (or at least, he isn’t visible) – Quentin had been on the task force to take him down, then he’d worked with him to stop Merlyn (and Queen). He’d almost got demoted for that stunt, for saving the goddamn city – actually he _had_ been demoted – but after Superman had spoken about the anonymous detective at the SCPD, they’d decided that he could keep his job.

He still heads the vigilante task force, but now, apparently, that just means he works cases that involve the vigilante, not that he’s trying to bring down the Arrow. (At least, that’s how his captain had phrased it when he’d spoken to him a week ago – nobody’s seen the Arrow since the night of the Undertaking and rumors abound about possible injuries or retirement. Quentin doesn’t see how a man like the Arrow could ever retire, but he keeps his thoughts to himself.)

Sure enough, he pulls up at the crime scene to see the would-be victim already sitting in the back of the ambulance, the would-be mugger handcuffed near the patrol car being read his rights. The Arrow is nowhere in sight and the two patrol cops are relaxed enough that Quentin is willing to bet he hasn’t shown himself.

As he turns off his car and takes the keys from the ignition the EMT helps the would-be victim into the back of the bus, shutting the doors behind them. Quentin steps from the car and approaches the uniforms, watching the ambulance leave.

“How’s it going boys?” he asks.

O’Malley waves as Jones helps the perp into the car.

“Not bad,” O’Malley says as he gets closer. “Had to get him out of the vigilante’s cables again but never saw the man himself.”

“If he is a man,” Jones comments, shutting the door behind the criminal.

Quentin gives the man a skeptical look. “He’s as human as you or I,” he says, not for the first time – though sometimes he doubts it himself.

The uniforms don’t seem quite so convinced either, and with Superman out there in the world, Quentin can’t really say for sure who or _what_ the Arrow is.

“Not much of a scene,” O’Malley continues as he and Jones approach their respective doors, “but feel free to check it out.”

Quentin nods, then watches as they get into their patrol car.

The alley is dark and full of shadows, but that’s to be expected from a crime scene. Even scum know how to take advantage of their environments. He doesn’t see much point in looking for evidence he knows isn’t there. The patrol car with the criminals in tow leaves, but before Quentin can get into his own car he hears a sound further down the alley.

He freezes and hesitates, but he’s got a pretty good idea of who made the sound. Looks like he’d stuck around after all. He pulls out his gun and heads into the dark, glancing around.

“It’s good to see you, Detective.”

The voice comes from above him, distorted with that thingy the Arrow uses to change his voice. Quentin glances up, just barely spots the vigilante (hero now?) standing on the shadowy fire escape on the west side of the alley.

“So now you’re sticking around to chat?” he asks sarcastically, lowering his gun slightly and taking his finger off the trigger.

“I wanted to thank you for your help,” the Arrow says, ignoring his question as always. He’s standing slightly at an angle to Quentin, keeping his face away and well shadowed by his hood. (He can’t tell if the figure is injured.)

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t just you I was helping.” Quentin thinks of Laurel, still at CNRI when the earthquake device had activated.

“I wanted to thank you by making a promise,” the Arrow continues, still ignoring his words. “I’ll be sticking around for a lot longer.”  

“How do I know I can trust you?” Quentin asks suddenly. “You may have stopped dropping bodies but how do I know you won’t start again?”

“You can take my word for it,” the Arrow offers, “or you can trust Superman.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’m making you the same promise Superman made me – I won’t be dropping any more bodies in this city.”

A noise from the other end of the alley has Quentin looking away instinctively, even though he knows the Arrow will be gone by the time he looks back. Sure enough, the fire escape is empty.

“Superman,” he mutters under his breath, half in surprise, half disbelief. He holsters his gun and makes his way back to the street.

It’s good to think that even the Green Arrow has someone watching him, ensuring that he doesn’t screw up, but surprisingly Quentin feels a bit disgruntled about it. Territorial, even. Superman’s a good guy – or alien, whatever – but Star City is Quentin’s city.

Oh great, now’s he’s claiming the Arrow as Star City’s hero, even if he’s not sure he really trusts the man. Quentin runs a hand over his face. He needs a drink (not that he’ll be getting one). What has he gotten himself into?

* * *

Diggle and Felicity head home after Oliver finishes his chat with Lance but Oliver, he’s not quite so ready to turn in. The city is fairly quiet tonight but he still wanders the rooftops, pausing on some, jumping between others. It feels good to be back on the street for the first time since the Undertaking, but not an enthusiastic sort of enjoyment – more of simple contentment.

Maybe calming would be a better term for it. His mother’s in jail and Thea still won’t visit her or even talk about it and he’s been talking with Walter and Tommy about how best to manage Queen Consolidated and Merlyn Global all the while Tommy still seems uncomfortable around him, as if he still can’t trust him (but he’d helped Felicity set up their headquarters. That has to mean something). So hitting the streets again, stopping crime without any moral quandaries or hesitation, no question about right or wrong – it’s refreshing. Oliver doesn’t know how he could have ever considered giving this up.

Maybe if Laurel… But Laurel’s with Tommy now and while, with the Undertaking over, Oliver wants to get involved more in his life out of the hood, he’s really starting to appreciate what it means to be the Arrow. Starting to realize that, after so long fighting for his life, he wouldn’t know what to do with himself if he put down his bow.

So he wanders the rooftops, a new bow in his hands, oddly content but not really looking for a fight. The physical strain of traveling around the city is enough, and it gives Oliver time to think, and contemplate his future with a clear head.

He stops on yet another rooftop for a brief pause and spots a figure above him. As Superman lands lightly beside him, Oliver doesn’t move his gaze from the cityscape. With Superman here now, he wants to talk about how Superman could possibly be okay with his actions, wants to bring up the events of a week ago, but, also, he doesn’t. Doesn’t want to defend his actions to this man, who couldn’t possibly understand them. Doesn’t want to break the calm contentment he’s reached this night, traveling across the rooftops of Star City.

“How many people know?” he asks instead, clicking on the voice synthesizer by habit, thinking of Thea.

“Know what?”

“Who you are?”

Superman takes a moment to respond. “What do you mean?”

Oliver glances over at him. “Most of the world doesn’t think about you having another life but you can’t… do what we do and not have something to come home to.” Even if that something is just Diggle and Felicity, cheering him on and helping him through. (Tommy’s still reluctant to talk to him, Laurel’s keeping her distance because Tommy is, and Thea’s distracting herself with her relationship with Roy).

Superman meets his gaze, clearly thinking about how to answer the question. “Quite a few, actually,” he says after a moment.

Oliver is both surprised and not. Only three people willingly know his secret, but then again, he and Superman are nothing alike, when it comes to some things.

“Do you… have a family?” Superman asks cautiously.

If he does know who Oliver is already, then he’s a pretty good actor.

Oliver nods.

“Do they know?”

“No. But…” He doesn’t need to say anything more.

They glance away from each other, studying the cityscape once more. “I could have called,” Superman says, “I just, wanted to see how the city was doing. How you were doing.”

For once, Oliver doesn’t mind Superman’s unexpected visit. “Do you have a family?” he asks in return.

A longer pause this time. “Yes,” Superman finally answers. “And yes, they do know.”

Food for thought, and the answer Oliver was looking for. He straightens, turning away from the city once more. “And how do we stand?” he asks bluntly.

Superman knows what he’s asking about. “I understand what you had to do, even if I don’t like he,” he says hesitantly. “I just wish…”

“Don’t we all?” Oliver growls out, interrupting him.

Superman sighs.

“My patrol’s over for the night. We never did get to a second lesson.”

Superman gladly takes the olive branch and this time Oliver leads him back to Verdant.

* * *

They spend about an hour working on Superman’s fighting, which is still different than anything Oliver’s ever done. On one hand, Superman needs to know everything a normal fighter would – how to fall properly, how to take a punch – but only in case he has to fight someone just as strong as him. On the other hand, he has to learn how to take a punch from someone who might break their hand on him. He doesn’t have to worry about breaking his thumb if he punches someone wrong, or using up too much energy on useless moves.

It’s … unique, but Oliver enjoys the opportunity to think about different ways to fight, even if he’s the only one sweating at the end. He’s still got his hood up, but he’s fought in it plenty of times, so that’s not much of a challenge even if he would prefer to take his jacket off. Oh well, he’s made his decision regarding Superman and his secret and he’s sticking by it.

Superman grins as they slow to a stop. If it’s late here in Star City, then it’s definitely late in Metropolis, but Oliver doesn’t know if Superman even needs to sleep.

“Thank you,” Superman says. “I’ll call next time, if you’re okay with continuing this.”

Oliver nods. “Of course,” he says, wiping his face off with a towel.

Superman makes his way toward the exit, but, not for the first time, Oliver finds himself stopping the Man of Steel from leaving.

“Do you know Batman?” he asks suddenly, glancing at the magazine Felicity gave him over a week ago, wondering if the man is just a myth, or a genuine vigilante.

Superman frowns thoughtfully, turning back to Oliver. “I wouldn’t say I _know_ him,” he says. “I’ve talked to him a couple times. He told me to stay out of his city.” A pause. “Why?”

Oliver shrugs. “Just thinking about what you said a while ago,” he says. “About rumors. Of others.”

“Yeah,” Superman says, and his tone is thoughtful, a bit wistful even.

Oliver watches him go with a contemplative frown, for once completely uncertain as to what his future holds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I am still completely terrible at keeping to my own scheduled timeline, but here we are, at the end of this story! Thanks for sticking with me!
> 
> The sequel to this, Starting Something, picks up pretty much where we leave off, since Oliver has no reason to leave town with Tommy still alive. Chapter One: A New Normal, will be (should be) posted on May 25th, but after that there's a bit of a time skip and I'll pick back up in July.


End file.
